I must have been around 12 or 13, I suppose, when I got out of bed and crept into my parents’ bedroom. “Mum, I think I’ve wet the bed,” I whispered. She got out of bed, grabbed some new sheets and ripped the old ones off the bed. She looked at me slightly quizzically and said, “Er, you haven’t wet the bed. Hasn’t your father talked to you about this?” I was totally mystified. She sat me down and explained that I’d just had a wet dream. I was, of course, mortified.
My father hadn’t discussed the birds and the bees with me. Even after that experience, I’m pretty sure my sisters found out about menstruation the hard way. And I say this as someone who had the most loving, caring parents any son could wish for.