It was the last thing we did before leaving our daughter at the university's halls of residences. "A going away present," my wife said as she handed over the gaily-wrapped parcel.

Our daughter started pulling at the paper to get at the contents of the package. "What is it?" Her expression changed from one of anticipation to one of puzzlement as she unwrapped a baseball bat and a packet of condoms.

I grinned at her. "It is the cultural weapon of your people."

"But what are they for?"

My wife elbowed me in the ribs to shut me up. "You remember the talk we had?" she asked our daughter, who rolled her eyes in response.

"Yes."

"Well the baseball bat is in case you need to use the condoms."

"And," I chimed in, "the condoms are in case you need to use the baseball bat." It was obvious my daughter was in need of further enlightenment. I mimed rolling a prophylactic onto the shaft of the bat, then pulling it off. "You can get rid of the evidence."

My daughter shot me an evil look. "Da-ad!"

I hung my head in mock admonishment.