TMI!

Mother Nature must have had teenagers because she knew enough to create secrets.

ALL FIVE of us were in the minivan. I was driving, my 20-year-old daughter Ev was riding shotgun. Her twin sister, Ria, brother Michel and my wife, Helena, sat behind. We were enroute to Halifax from our Toronto home and nearing the Quebec village with the best name of any place in Canada, Saint-Louis-Du-Ha! Ha!

And even though it was a hot August morning, we didn’t need A/C. The van was cooled with what you might describe as the “post-argument chill.”

We still had a day’s drive ahead of us and I think we were all dreading it. The mood sucked all the joy out of what should have been an adventure.

Ev to the rescue.

Just telling you about Ev makes me use a word I’ve never typed before. Empath. She reads people’s feelings with the same precision that her uncle Ed deciphers the “What’s On Tap” menu.

I could sense she was hard at work improving everybody’s demeanor.

Step One: Re-engineer the atmosphere. With iPod in hand, she manipulated the vehicle’s entertainment system and carefully selected music that soothed our savage selves. Grocery stores have used this technique for years to get you more receptive to spending.

I could feel the tension easing. And after a few miles, she said—softly—“Mom and Dad…you know how sometimes I tell you about something I’ve done afterwards because it’s better than telling you before???”

For the first time in four hours, Helena and I agreed on something.

She continued: “Have you ever heard of the Naked Bike Ride for the Environment? I rode in it this summer.”

We suddenly weren’t thinking about whatever we’d been arguing about.

When nobody’s standing behind you, Google Naked Bike Ride. Every year, thousands of cyclists around the world strip off and somehow prove to the world by doing so that we should be less dependent on fossil fuels. I’m not sure I get the connection, but still.

In Toronto, the ride starts near the shore of Lake Ontario and winds about 4.5 clicks north through the crowded streets of Canada’s most populated city until the bikes reach Queen’s Park—Ontario’s legislative seat.

Which brings us to Helena’s immediate response: “Whose bike were you riding?” For some reason my mind went there too.

Ev: “Nick’s.” (Ewww.. We know and like Nick. I wish we hadn’t asked.)

Helena: “Suppose somebody took pictures. Might end up on Facebook.”

Ev: “Already has. But you can’t tell it’s me. I was wearing a wig.”

We are not a naked family. In fact, for some of us, it’s the opposite. I told Ria the other day—and whether she believed me or not remains to be seen—that I chose not to be a professional athlete for the simple reason that I don’t like showering with other men.

I should also mention that neither do we have anything against Ev riding naked through the streets of Toronto. She’s mature, smarter and more sensible than my wife and I put together and, in fact, we’re proud of her independent spirit.

I’m also very proud of her honesty. And now that the she’d successfully thawed the icy silence in the car, the talk moved along to other issues, such as whether, when I was her age, I would have told my folks that I rode my bike naked.

The answer’s a loud-and-clear nope.

I don’t know about you, but when I was in high school or university, for that matter, I never talked to my mom or dad about my social life unless I was trying to get something from them or out of deep trouble.

I’m grateful teens today are far more open with their parents than any generation in history. I happen to think this new open-ness is a wonderful and healthy trend.

There are things about your teens—especially your dating teens—that you’ll want to keep tabs on, but there are others (and I urge you to share this list with the teenagers in your life) social-life details moms and dads will be just as happy to go to their graves not knowing. Mother Nature invented secrets for a good reason. She was, after all, a mother. She knew what she was doing.

I’m not sure what the show was called, but it might have been “WHAAAHAPPEN?” That’s how the jocks asked the callers to fess up. “

We got Brittany on the line from Keswick. So… Brittany… WHAAAHAPPEN?”

OK, maybe the shock jocks weren’t the only immature ones. But, at least I waited until the girls were out of the van.

Some hungover sophomore talking about her drunken, horny weekend at Crystal Beach is not something you want to share with your 14-year-olds.

At their age, you still kind of hope you can protect them from a lot of stuff. The real world of serious relationships is directly in your line of sight and—with all due respect to any “niners” reading this—they’re still kinda young.

Plus, I’ve never been comfortable talking about sex with my kids.

I remember once when their younger brother, Michel, was in Grade 6 or 7, my wife, Helena, insisted I take him aside for “the talk.”

Michel was taking an after-school gymnastics class and so it was en route, in the same van in which I drove the girls to school, where “the talk” happened.

It went like this:

Me: “Michel, Mom says you and I should have a talk. Ok with you if I say we did and leave it at that?”

Him: “Yup.”

That was that. I’m not prudish as much as I am efficient. And far as I know, Michel’s done ok in the sex department.

My feeling? Your kids already know way more than you think they do.

My proof?

I whisk you back to the Carters’ breakfast table, 15 or so minutes before the twins and I piled into the van to head out.

I forget the actual contents of the conversation, but I remember the tone very clearly. It was scandalous.

Ev was about to share something that happened to one of her schoolmates; something embarrassing.

I was sitting across from her and her sister and, seconds before she started the story, Michel bounded downstairs and over to the table. She hesitated, but Michel sensed what was going on. He then started up in a voice that could only have been learned in one place— “WHAAAHAPPEN??”

I told you they know more than you think.