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

He picked at a loose thread on his sleeve.

“We’re basically the same age,” he said. “She made the worst choice.

I made a good one. That’s it.”

“That’s not it,” I said. “You heard a tiny, broken sound and your first instinct was to help.

That’s who you are.”

He didn’t answer.

Later that night, we sat on the front steps in hoodies and blankets, looking at the dark park.

“Even if everyone laughs at me tomorrow,” he said, “I know I did the right thing.”

I bumped his shoulder.

“I don’t think they’re going to laugh,” I said.

I was right.

By Monday, the story was everywhere. Facebook. The school group chat.

The little town paper.

The boy with the pink spiky hair and piercings and leather jacket.

People started calling him something new.

He still wears the hair. Still wears the jacket. Still rolls his eyes at me.

Continue reading…