THE BABY WHO WAS BORN WITH A RARE SKIN CONDITION

In 1993, Tomm Tennent from South East Australia had shocked his parents and the medical team, when he was born. Tomm was born with enough skin to cover a five-year-old child.

Tomm’s parents were happy that they were going to be parents, and knew that something was off with their son, they had no idea about the gravity of their situation. When their doctors stated that there was something off with their baby boy, the medical team had suggested ending the pregnancy earlier, but parents didn’t wanted that.

“When he came out I was quite shocked (…) I didn’t think a human, or a little baby, could ever look like that.” Geoff Tennent said in 2003, to 60 Minutes Australia.

“My heart came up to my throat, but at the same time it was lovely to pick him up and cuddle him,” the mother also stated.

As years passed, Tomm had visited the hospital many times, because the professional experts wanted to examine Tomm, who was born with a unique condition about his skin.

As the experts kept examining Tomm, they found resmeblences with Chinese dog breed Shar Pei. They found out that Tomm’s Hyaluronic acid leves were 100 times higher than normal, as Shar Pei puppies.

The dog breed would normalize the Hyaluronic acid levels as they grew, the doctors expected from Tomm to live through the same experience, and they were right in that matter.

As Tomm had lived through many experiences while he was growing, he was asked that if people had any concerns about Tomm’s condition, he stated, “Not really (…) because they are my friends and they don’t really care how I look like. Sometimes they (people) say I look cool, sometimes they say I look really cool, and sometimes they don’t say anything.”

Today, Tomm has no weird extras on his skin, as he recovered from his condition, as the doctors expected.

He is married with his wife, Hannah. And he stated in his Facebook account, “Life’s simple. You make choices, and you don’t look back.”

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Nobody expected fifty bikers at my son\’s funeral. Least of all the four teenagers who put him there. I\’m not a crier. Twenty-six years as a high school janitor taught me to keep my emotions locked down tight. But when that first Harley rumbled into the cemetery parking lot, followed by another, then another, until the whole place vibrated with thunder—that\’s when I finally broke. My fourteen-year-old boy, Mikey, had hanged himself in our garage. The note he left mentioned four classmates by name. \”I can\’t take it anymore, Dad,\” he\’d written. \”They won\’t stop. Every day they say I should kill myself. Now they\’ll be happy.\” The police called it \”unfortunate but not criminal.\” The school principal offered \”thoughts and prayers\” then suggested we have the funeral during school hours to \”avoid potential incidents.\” I\’d never felt so powerless. Couldn\’t protect my boy while he was alive. Couldn\’t get justice after he was gone. Then Sam showed up at our door. Six-foot-three, leather vest, gray beard down to his chest. I recognized him—he pumped gas at the station where Mikey and I would stop for slushies after his therapy appointments. \”Heard about your boy,\” he said, standing awkward on our porch. \”My nephew did the same thing three years back. Different school, same reason.\” I didn\’t know what to say, so I just nodded. \”Thing is,\” Sam continued, looking past me like the words hurt to say, \”nobody stood up for my nephew. Not at the end, not after. Nobody made those kids face what they did.\” He handed me a folded paper with a phone number. \”You call if you want us there. No trouble, just… presence.\” I didn\’t call. Not at first. But the night before the funeral, I found Mikey\’s journal. Pages of torment. Screenshots of text messages telling my gentle, struggling son to \”do everyone a favor and end it.\” My hands shook as I dialed the number. \”How many people you expecting at this funeral?\” Sam asked after I explained. \”Maybe thirty. Family, some teachers. None of his classmates.\” \”The ones who bullied him—they coming?\” \”Principal said they\’re planning to, with their parents. To \’show support.\’\” The words tasted like acid. Sam was quiet for a moment. \”We\’ll be there at nine. You won\’t have to worry about a thing.\” I didn\’t understand what he meant until I saw them the next morning—a sea of leather vests, weathered faces, and solemn eyes. The Hell\’s Angels patches visible as they formed two lines leading to the small chapel, creating a corridor of protection. The funeral director approached me, panic in his eyes. \”Sir, there are… numerous motorcycle enthusiasts arriving. Should I call the police?\” \”They\’re invited guests,\” I said. When the four boys arrived with their parents, confused expressions turned to fear as they saw the bikers. Sam stepped forward and…. Check out the first comment to read the full story

Nobody expected fifty bikers at my son’s funeral. Least of all the four teenagers who put him there. I’m not a crier. Twenty-six years as a high…