PROTECTIVE SERVICES, MY STORY
With the Appellate Court decision in Texas that finds the
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
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
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
Carl F. Worden