Talis Shelbourne

Milwaukee Journal Sentinel

TOWN OF TAYCHEEDAH – In a rowdy room where parents and kids were playing, laughing and singing songs, a young man slowly slid off his seat onto the floor, peeking up with a mischievous giggle to see if his mother was watching.



Shaking her head as she took her own seat, she remarked, "You should have sat in it right."



Those silly, simple mother-child interactions wouldn't normally take place in a prison like Taycheedah Correctional Institution, but they did Friday when 12 mothers and their children gathered for Camp Reunite, a program that counsels children who have incarcerated mothers and brings them for an informal weekend prison visit.



The mother is Keana, a single parent who has just started an eight-year sentence for selling drugs after she lost her job and, along with it, the ability to support her three children.



Kamon, the 9-year-old seated next to her, said he misses playing at the video game tournaments his mother used to hold at home.



Although she is in prison, "I won't allow this to hinder me being a mother," Keana said.



From the way she gently chides her son to the fact that she signed up for Camp Reunite expressly for them, Keana hopes she can make that impression on her children.

The kids

Children whose parents are noticeably absent from school, sports and life events often have low self-esteem and experience bullying.



"There’s some shame to it, some secrecy," said Neil Willenson, a volunteer with the Grafton-based Hometown Heroes organization and a co-founder of Camp Reunite with Andrew Gappa, Kenzie Kacmarcik and Jim Kacmarcik of Kapco Metal Stamping.

Before co-founding the camp, Willenson was a foster parent who drove one of his children six hours between Milwaukee and a prison in Pekin, Illinois. The visits, he said, were "sterile" and "cold."

Willenson and Gappa wanted to develop a more trauma-informed approach to prison visits, so they helped co-found Camp Reunite.

For example, before they are bused to Taycheedah, children stay at Turning Rivers, a state camp property in the Kettle Moraine State Forest where they meet other children with incarcerated mothers, engage in art therapy and hold discussion sessions.



Gappa calls it "camp with a purpose."



Aaron, the 11-year-old son of an inmate named Adriana, said going to camp helped him feel less alone once he realized there were other children with mothers in prison.



"It's not just me," he said.



Aaron's mother said he was just a baby when she went to Taycheedah 10 years ago but has since grown into a resilient, compassionate boy.



"On the bus ride, if they're sad, he can help them because he's been through this," she said.

Adriana said being in an abusive relationship led her to make bad decisions and ultimately become incarcerated as party to an armed robbery. Now 32, she is learning the building and maintenance trade and hopes to become an apprentice after her release in the next four to six years.

"I think I got the guidance here that I never got at home," she said.

At Camp Reunite, her son has also received some of that guidance, through informal games.

"When we’re at camp, we focus a lot on conflict resolution, resiliency and coping skills," Willenson said.

"Prevention is a big thing," Gappa said. "(We're) cheering for the children. That way, they can build that confidence within themselves and hopefully, take that home.

"If we want to prevent a cyclical nature of crime you have to start with the children," he said. "For many kids, this is the first time in years they’ve seen their mom sober."

Willenson agreed that the program is meant to provide children with healthy role models as their parents grow into that role.

The moms

Substance abuse is an issue for many of Wisconsin's female inmates. Between 2007-'09, the Department of Justice estimated that 69 percent of female prisoners were suffering from drug addiction or abuse.



Tiana's mother, also named Adriana, said alcohol has been her drug of choice since she became addicted to the party scene at the age of 14.



Adriana said she thought blackouts were normal until she found herself being taken in for her fifth OWI. Now the 29-year-old cautions her daughter and 15-year-old sister about responsible drinking.

Adriana will be released from her four-year sentence in about a year. When that day comes, she said the first thing she would do is pick up her daughter.



Tiana, 10, said she was sad when her mother was first incarcerated. However, she was glad her mother could finally get the help she needed.



"If she hadn't gotten here, she wouldn't have gotten help," she said.



That is why Taycheedah Warden Sarah Cooper said the programs for female inmates are built around trauma-informed care that recognizes the impact that stems from childhood exposure to neglect, abuse, violence, sexual assault, addiction or chronic stress.



RELATED:Taycheedah warden: Women's prison seeks to balance security, rehabilitation.



Cooper and other correctional officials screen out women who have committed crimes against their children as well as sex offenders and inmates with behavioral issues.



For eligible participants, however, the camp incentivizes them to follow procedures and maintain their sobriety.



Aaron's mother, Adriana, said, "This is actually helping the moms because we have to behave, we have to stay good."



Cooper said children are powerful motivators to create not only model prisoners but model citizens.



"We know that for female offenders, part of what helps them be successful when they are released is having that strong bond with their children," Cooper said.



Willenson agreed: "We believe in reconnection, so why not strengthen the bonds now?"

The facility

Cooper said their trauma-informed approach is specifically designed to help women cope with past abuse so they can be successful parents once they reunite with their children.

That is partly why the facility significantly amends its rules during visits to maintain a more family-friendly atmosphere.

They conduct quiet headcounts, extend visits to four to five hours, make meals more buffet-style and permit physical contact beyond the standard two embraces.



Mothers noticed and appreciated the difference.



"It's almost like we're at home," Aaron's mother Adriana said.



Cooper said that was the point.

"We wanted the environment to be as close as we could possibly make it as if the moms and kids were home together," Cooper said, adding that watching the mothers and children bond also improves officer-inmate relationships in a way she hadn't predicted.



"(For) officers involved in this program, it’s completely humanizing," Cooper said. "Being a correctional officer is so much more than locking people up, it’s about the rehabilitation."



As she tugged her mother's arm closer to her side, Adriana's daughter, Tiana, agreed.



"If your family member is in prison, I don't think you should be ashamed or disappointed in them because they will think no one cares about me, so why should I do anything differently?"



Instead, she said showing care will motivate change.



"Just because you're here does not mean you are a bad person," she said.





