My 16-Year-Old Son Rescued a Newborn
The Kid Everyone Judged
I thought my sixteen-year-old punk son,
Jax, was the one who needed protecting.
With pink spikes, piercings, and combat boots,
people assumed the worst. I always said, “He’s a good kid.”
A Sound in the Cold
One freezing night, Jax went for a walk.
I later saw him on a park bench,
shielding a newborn with his body.
He looked up and said,
“Someone left this baby here. I couldn’t walk away.”
No Hesitation
He’d already called 911 and wrapped the baby in his leather jacket.
Shaking with cold, he told me calmly,
“If I don’t, he could die.”
EMTs later said that jacket saved the baby’s life.
Who He Really Is
The next day, the baby’s father told Jax,
“You saved my baby.” Jax shrugged it off.
But I’ll never forget him whispering,
“I couldn’t walk away.”
Sometimes heroes wear combat boots.
