My 16-Year-Old Son Rescued a Newborn from the Cold – the Next Day a Cop Showed Up on Our Doorstep

I always thought my 16-year-old punk son was the one the world needed protecting from—until a freezing night, a park bench across the street, and a knock on our door the next morning completely changed how I saw him.

I’m 38, and I really thought I’d seen it all as a mom.

Vomit in my hair on picture day. Calls from the school counselor. A broken arm from “flipping off the shed, but in a cool way.” If there’s a mess, I’ve probably cleaned it.

I have two kids.

Lily is 19, in college, the honor-roll, student-council, “can we use your essay as an example?” type.

My youngest, Jax, is 16.

Continue reading…