I always thought my sixteen-year-old punk son was the one the world needed protecting from. Turns out, I had it backwards. I have two kids. My oldest, Lily, is the perfect student—honor roll, planners color-coded, teachers’ favorite. Then there’s Jax.Jax is unapologetically punk. Pink spiked hair, piercings, combat boots, a leather jacket people judge before they ever hear his voice....
