Jack: Mom, I want to be Goth.

Mom: Um...what do you mean, "Goth"? Do you want to be punk?

Jack: Can I have a mohawk?

Mom: Hell, no.

Jack: I want to dress like Kiss.

Mom: "Kiss" aren't Goth, they are showmen.

Jack: Well, I want to dress like Kiss.

Mom: Over my dead body.

Jack: Um...

Mom: Don't get any ideas. How about we do a little shopping on Saturday? We'll go to Ragstock, Tatters, and hang and be Uptown Rats. Maybe we'll see a punk rocker.

Jack: COOL!!! You are the best mom in the whole world.

Mom: No, just pretty dumb.

Here is the results of our shopping trip:


Note the play on words for Hairy Pawter. It's a "Bad Dog" (or something like that) shirt.
I did casually mention he may want to spring the jewelry on donor dad one item at a time.

My baby's first leather. It brings tears to my eyes...sniff.

And his first pair of Dickies, his first work shirt, first pair of Chuck Taylors (ok, Mom got a pair, too!) his first brunch at the Uptown Bar (we both took home glasses, our stock was getting low) and now I've been told I need to get him a black hoodie so he can wear his leather all winter.
The things we have to learn...and we can learn together.
Precious parental moments.

And to think, just two weeks ago he was egg hunting for fuzzy bunnies.
They grow up so fast!

PS. We didn't even see one punk. I think punk is dead.