CHILD PROTECTIVE SERVICES, MY STORY

Carl F. Worden

 

 

With the Appellate Court decision in Texas that finds the Texas Child Protective Services in violation of legal bounds for kidnapping over 400 children from their parents for what appears to be a violation of political correctness and nothing more, I am willing to tell you what the Santa Cruz County, California Child Protective Services monsters did to me and my own family.

 

This is a very painful thing to revisit in my memory, because I came very near to committing murder for the state-sponsored kidnapping of my own child, and even today, I fantasize about appearing over the morning bed of one of those vicious monsters who inflicted themselves upon my parenthood and family, to watch them bleed out after I have sliced the arteries in their throats, sending them to the Hell they certainly and dearly deserve.

 

That is no exaggeration.  The day is going to come when someone is so incensed and outraged by the kidnapping of their own child that they will show up in a Child Protective Services office with a concealed AK-47 and about six or eight 30-round clips, and clean house.  I know that day is coming soon, because I know human nature better than just about anyone, and I know that this will happen eventually because I also know how determined the average Child Protective Services worker is, and that it will take nothing less than killing them to cure them from the evil that they inflict on very decent people.

 

There is no question that real child abuse occurs, both physical and sexual.  But what constitutes child abuse is not a matter of law.  What constitutes “child abuse” today is whatever the local county or city Child Protective Services people say it is.  It is an entirely subjective term, and most often, Child Protective agencies deem physical child abuse to be the leaving of any mark, like a bruise, on the child.

 

So let us look at my case.

 

Rusty Worden was a troubled child from the get-go.  His mother and I divorced, then we got back together again, and then we divorced again.  We put Rusty through Hell as a child, and I will never forgive myself for it.  I cannot reconcile what I did to Rusty, Russell Clifford Worden, and I never will be able to.  I totally accept responsibility for my failures against Rusty before God Almighty, and I can only ask mercy from God for my shortcomings as his parent.

 

But at the time, I had to be a parent, and Rusty was a monster and a total Sociopath from birth who needed correction by parental and corporal means before the state needed to correct him, and that happens to be the way it goes in today’s USA.  If you do not correct your child in your home for bad behavior towards others, the state will do it for you when the kid turns 18, and if they do the “correction” your kid will generally come out of the prison system so fucked-up he will never operate in decent society because his occupational opportunities are in the toilet and he learned so many “skills” from the insiders he roomed with in prison that it cannot but influence his decisions when he gets out.  It is called survival, and that happens to be the overriding force in all human interactions.

 

So my wife and I were working hard in 1980, working from 8 AM in the morning to 9 PM in the evening, and trying to provide both sustenance and guidance to my children in the interim, when I discovered that my youngest child, Rusty, was coming home from school and riding his bicycle from Aptos, CA where we lived, to the Santa Cruz Boardwalk where every possible child-molesting deviant hung out.  This was a personally life-threatening act on his part, and I do not take such behavior lightly because I am averse to burying my children before me, and I took measures to stop the behavior, to wit:

 

The first time my kid screws up in a manner that threatens the life or health of himself, another person or an animal, he gets warned.  If the same thing happens again, my kid gets grounded for two weeks.  If the same thing happens again, I take out the paddle and roast his ass to a fine degree.  That usually solves the behavior problem, unless:

 

If the county Child Protective Services has been sending their representatives into your public school to solicit your children to tell about their parents spanking them, and you have no knowledge that they are doing this,  you are dead meat if your child is as willful and as much of a sociopath as my son, Rusty, was.  If that is the case, your child has a free ride to victimize you and get his/her way.

 

There was no question:  Rusty had bruises on his ass, and he deserved every one of them.

 

When I got home on that fateful day, I discovered a business card on my door, left by a representative of the Santa Cruz County Child Protective Services, asking me to call.  When I did call, I was informed that I was suspected of child abuse, and that my child Rusty had been placed in protective care – in other words, my child had been kidnapped by the state allegedly for his own good.

 

My first reaction was to kill anyone who had violated my family in such a manner, but it soon became clear that my own son had used the opportunity provided by these county scum-suckers to use this power-play against me.  No father should ever be placed in such a position.

 

Here was my dilemma:  The Child Protective Services worker who showed up told me that if I would never strike my child again, she would “allow” Rusty to come home.  Rusty was a monstrous little bastard as a child, and I knew that if I agreed to such an arrangement my life would be controlled by a sociopath 10-year-old, so I simply told the CPS worker that because she and her’s and interfered with my parental authority, I could never allow Rusty back in my home.  The state would have to take Rusty or his mother would, and at the time, she really didn’t want him.

 

As it turned out, Rusty’s mother did take him in.  The problem is that Rusty was still Rusty, and he was a master manipulator who knew just how to make his mommy do his bidding, and the moment Rusty got out of the house, he got involved in drug-dealing and ended up doing five years in San Quentin Prison in California.

 

Rusty has since turned his life around, but we are estranged and I have no real contact with him.

 

So here is the question:

 

What benefit did Santa Cruz County CPS provide in this case?  The entire mess began with their (CPS) interference with the family establishment, and not because the parents were drug users or alcoholics, but because the God-damned state deemed that the corporal punishment seen as necessary by the parents was deemed abusive by a state asshole who really didn’t have a clue, nor could have, of what the dynamics of the family life were.

 

My son did five years in San Quentin Prison because the Santa Cruz County CPS people interfered with my parental rights, and I will never forgive those bastards, and I hope they all slowly die of cancer in such extreme pain that they never really know when they enter Hell for all eternity.

 

Don’t even think of asking me to be forgiving, for they have never asked for forgiveness, and the day may come when they awake and find me standing over their bed.  That day is still to come.

 

Carl F. Worden