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

And Jax is… a punk.

Not “kind of alternative” punk.

Full-on.

Bright pink spiky hair standing straight up. Shaved sides. Piercings in his lip and eyebrow.

Leather jacket that smells like his gym bag and cheap body spray. Combat boots. Band shirts with skulls I pretend not to read.

He’s sarcastic and loud and way smarter than he lets on.

He pushes limits just to see what happens.

People stare at him everywhere.

Kids whisper at school events. Parents look him up and down and give me that strained, “Well… he’s expressing himself,” smile.

I hear:

“He looks… aggressive.”

Even, “Kids like that always end up in trouble.”

I always say the same thing.

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