Six-year-old McKenna peeks around a brick wall to wave at her uncle from across a room full of men who have made mistakes and are paying a debt to society.

She doesn’t care. She hardly notices. She’s just excited to spend time with her uncle – who she’s only seen in his murky gray prison attire – while joining in a lively circle dance at the Family Wacipi Powwow at the South Dakota State Penitentiary in Sioux Falls.

This isn’t McKenna's first family powwow, or her first trip up to "the hill." She’s a familiar face in the penitentiary’s visit room, where she and her grandparents visit her uncle, 44-year-old Mark Milk, on a regular basis.

Milk smiles and waves back to his niece before she darts off to join other families in listening to the drums.

“I love those moments,” says Milk. “I don’t get that every day.”

Milk, of Winner, has been in prison for about 25 years, and as of now, he’s got life to go for a 1994 first-degree manslaughter sentence. He’s an uncommon inmate in that his family visits him at least once a week.

His parents are accepting of his dark past and support his journey to do better inside the walls, such as talking with local youth about how violent paths lead to prison or worse.

They’re still proud to call him their son.

“We’re always there for you,” Milk’s father, Ralph Wendel, says to his son, who becomes teary-eyed at hearing the words. “We’re always there no matter what.”

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The few uninterrupted hours of the powwow are full of treasured stolen moments: tossing a toy to a son or niece, blowing on a piping hot spoonful of soup before feeding it into the mouth of a grandchild, playing airplane or holding onto a hug for as long as possible. All squeezed in between learning and practicing their culture and playing games designed to help everyone forget where they are, even if only for a moment.

“The clouds part for a bit,” says Milk. “But we never forget where we are.”

Focus on family

Milk, who has been a powwow emcee for five years, yearns for the family events, for himself and for his fellow inmates.

“To see the guys with their family, it’s so good to see that,” Milk said. “They need that. They need to stay humanized.”

The most recent powwow, held earlier this month, was one of four such gatherings on the hill at the penitentiary each year, put on by the Native American Council of Tribes. Two of the four are family powwows, where inmates’ families can attend and share songs, dances, games and a meal. The Jameson Annex, the prison’s top-security section, also has four powwows: two gym and two family.

Family powwows are smaller and more intimate than ceremonies held in the gym, where more hundreds of men pour in for traditional song, dance and meal.

It's not as extravagant or big as a traditional powwow, the inmates say, but it's a highlight of their year.

The normally dimly lit brick walls of the visitor room were covered with star quilts, feathers, traditional garb and lights for the event, which caps at about 90 attendees. The visitor room transforms into a family space, filled with the beat of drums and laughter from little ones ecstatic to run into the arms of their relatives.

“We have to stay humanized and the best way to do that is to be around family,” said Milk of the interactions. “It helps us. It really does.”

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People don’t realize how important it is to share a meal with each other, Milk’s mother Rose Wendel added.

The powwow’s meal is special in more ways than one. Not only do inmates get the rare occasion to share a table with their family, they get to enjoy food beyond the average prison meal’s standards.

A meal of fry bread, buffalo soup, a makeshift “chokecherry” wojapi (made with blueberries, because chokecherry isn’t a common commodity in most grocery stores), and potato wedges. Hefty portions of fry bread and bowls of buffalo soup, made with buffalo meat from near Flandreau, were heartily consumed by the inmates.

While the men receive tastier food, and more of it, during powwows, their favorite part of the meal is sitting and enjoying it with their loved ones.

“When we come for a visit, he can’t even go get pop from the soda machine, but here we can have a meal together,” Milk’s mother said. “People don’t realize how important it is to have a meal with them.”

Making them proud

For Shawn Mousseau, president of the Native American Council of Tribes, these powwows are one of the few occasions he gets to see three generations of his family at the same time. His mother, three of his children and a granddaughter traveled from Burnsville, Minn., for the most recent family event.

“I come because he’s my son,” said Mousseau’s mother, Pearl. “I wanted to bring everyone to see him and spend this time with him. I enjoy it because I get to see him.”

Mousseau’s mom takes care of a few of his children, a contribution for which he said he’ll be forever grateful.

Mousseau sat beneath a Paw Patrol poster, his granddaughter on his lap and a smile on his face. His 8-year-old son shyly pointed to Mousseau when asked about his favorite part of the powwow.

Mousseau’s mother enjoys the time she spends with her son and others from her tribe visiting other inmates, and she also values the educational opportunity the powwow brings.

“We get to be involved with our heritage and culture,” she said. “We can teach culture, take the kids. For them, it’s nice to be able to enjoy it with their dad."

As president of the council, Mousseau, 40, takes on a lead role of helping the men plan and organize the event, a process that he said benefits the inmates involved.

Three or so months go into crafting the ceremony. Men practice their songs for weeks to perform for their families, who often get emotional watching the men perform.

It's a snapshot of what a lot of the men are trying to do inside the walls, Milk said. Work harder to improve themselves and make their families proud of them.

"We tend to think we let our families down," he said. "It’s nice to make them proud."

For Milk, he'll continue to do just that. Between visits and family powwows, he tries to mentor young men from in and outside the walls. He's hoping to give back in a situation he landed in because he took so much.

He has his family to thank for his determination.

“Even when I’m at my worst, my family stayed with me,” Milk said. “When I thought I lost everything, when I turned around, I still had my family with me.”

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