It was January 2, 1996. As I stood on my front steps, holding my now 17 year old son, I was shaking with fear. Yet again, I had been falsely accused of child abuse and was involved in a surreal stand-off with a sheriff's deputy. This particular deputy's method of "determining if my children were in danger" involved screaming at me with such vehemence that he was showering me with his saliva.
Yesterday, this same child and I talked about that day 16 years ago. Fortunately for us, my children were never detained into foster care, or as I have come to call it, kidnapped by the state of Georgia. I have since made it my life's mission to help other falsely accused families. I have always tried to do what is right.
Unfortunately, I have let myself get discouraged over the last year or so- due to both some personal financial troubles and family health issues as well as having been involved in litigation. (Shell v. AFRA, et al) I have to snap out of it. If I am brave enough to stand up to a maniacal cop with anger management issues, then I can handle what life is throwing at me now.
I'm getting my ass back in gear. Stay tuned.
