Mentoring programs helps children of incarcerated parents
Kameron Copeland, left, looks at a photo on Jennie Dowda's phone. Photo: Erica Yoon
The Roanoke Times | Aug. 14, 2014 | PDF and PDF
By Amy Friedenberger
As Cheddar’s Casual Cafe slowly began to fill with the lunchtime crowd, giggles from two people in a booth stuck out.
“You know, if you order fish, they take it out of there?” a woman said, nodding toward a large tank filled with yellow and blue exotic fish.
“Really?” said a little girl, leaning against the table. “Nuh-uh.”
The two shared many laughs during their lunch at the Valley View Mall restaurant, the sources of amusement ranging from jokes to photos on the woman’s phone.
Daniel Copeland said he always notices that his daughter Kameron, the giggling little girl with a tight bun, is in brighter spirits after she returns from seeing 30-year-old Jennie Dowda.
“They’re like two peas in a pod,” Copeland said.
Dowda started spending time with Kameron, 9, last fall. She’s Kameron’s Big Sister — just not biologically. Dowda and Kameron were paired up through the Big Brothers Big Sisters mentoring program nearly a year ago. Kameron’s father thought the program would benefit her by providing a positive female role model while her mother serves out a prison sentence.
“I like her because she’s funny,” Kameron said about Dowda.
Experts say children of incarcerated parents face many challenges, from mental and physical health problems to education struggles and involvement in delinquent behavior. Mentoring programs around the country, like the one that nonprofit Big Brothers Big Sisters of Southwest Virginia offers, try to support such youth by making a positive difference in the multiple areas of child development that may suffer while a parent is locked up.
While not a separate program, Big Brothers Big Sisters recognizes that children of incarcerated parents may have different needs than other youth considered to be “at-risk” — whether it be that they live in a single-parent home, have a low socioeconomic status or receive low grades. Big Brothers Big Sisters trains its employees and mentors on how to address the struggles children with a parent behind bars may face.
“When you’re a child, carrying burdens on your shoulders and a fear that is very real can be hard,” said June House, president and CEO of Big Brothers Big Sisters of Southwest Virginia. “Throwing a Frisbee or baking cookies with a mentor can sometimes be just enough for them to think that life’s not so bad or there is hope for the future.”
‘The mom of the house’
About a year ago, Copeland and Kameron walked to Sweet Union Baptist Church in northwest Roanoke for a festival. He approached a Big Brothers Big Sisters booth; the people there already expected him. Kameron’s mother had sent a letter to the organization about getting her daughter involved in its mentoring program.
“My name is Nicole Copeland and I’m currently being held in the Roanoke City Jail,” she wrote in a neat script. “I left my husband and three (3) little children out there without a mom because of my poor choices. I’m from the Northern Virginia area with no family here in Roanoke. I thank God every day for my husband (Daniel), because if it weren’t for him I don’t know where my children would be. Daniel is a good father, hardworking and a provider. I know that they would greatly benefit from the mentoring program.”
Nicole Tiffany Copeland, 47, has been in and out of jail or prison for various offenses. She’s currently serving a 22-month sentence for violating probation and is housed at Central Virginia Correctional Unit 13 in Chesterfield County. In 2008, she pleaded guilty to petit larceny, eluding law enforcement and driving without a license. She’s scheduled to be released Aug. 25.
Because of the long distance between their house and the prison, Copeland’s three youngest children — who also include energetic Karon, 8, and Kaniah, 7 — don’t get to see their mother much. Kameron knows about her mother’s situation, but she doesn’t talk about it.
Even for Daniel Copeland, talking about his wife causes his voice to quiver.
“We stand by her and support her,” he said.
Copeland runs a busy single-parent household. He has a job in construction, which keeps the family on a tight budget, but he says it’s “good, honest money.” He and his wife also have six older children who live in Northern Virginia.
Within the family in Roanoke, Kameron sometimes assumes a caretaking role — tying a sibling’s shoe, braiding her sister’s hair or irritably rallying everyone for dinner. After her brother and sister finish their vegetables, hot dogs and macaroni and cheese, Kameron starts washing the dishes.
“I like cooking,” she said while clearing plates from the table, staying focused on the task.
Her father sees how the mentoring program has helped Kameron, such as providing her with an outlet to have some fun away from the responsibilities at the house.
“Kameron is like the mom of the house caring for the little ones, and I can see it burning her down,” Copeland said.
Internalizing the shame
About 1.7 million youth in the United States have at least one parent currently in prison, according to a report published last fall from the Office of Juvenile Justice and Delinquency Prevention. Millions more have a parent in a local jail.
Lisa Kinney, a spokeswoman with the Virginia Department of Corrections, said the state does not track how many Virginia prison inmates have children.
The Roanoke City Jail, where Nicole Copeland briefly stayed before her transfer to prison, does not keep those statistics either, said sheriff’s office spokeswoman Lauren Dunne.
Experts say that, in certain cases, the trauma and struggles that children face are collateral damage of the criminal actions of their parents. Research suggests that the incarceration of a parent can increase the likelihood that youth become involved in antisocial and delinquent behavior.
Joyce Arditti, a professor of human development at Virginia Tech whose research focuses on criminal justice and the effects on families, said children who have an incarcerated parent are a strongly stigmatized group.
“The stigma complicates the loss because it isolates people,” she said. “The children internalize the shame.”
Daniel Copeland worried about that happening with Kameron. He saw his daughter trying to remain tough, but he knew it was eating away at her inside.
“She’ll be strong, but I can see it bothers her, especially when we go around and we’ll see all the other mothers with their kids,” he said, choking back tears with Kameron at his side.
He didn’t like taking Kameron to see other family members because they would insult her mother in front of her. And he worried about what others would say — or think but not say — about her because her mother was serving time.
These concerns, along with his worry that he couldn’t provide Kameron with the experiences a mother typically provides daughters, led him to seek a mentor for her.
“I can’t do the girly things,” he said.
Dowda and Kameron spend a lot of their time talking, playing games or doing those typical “girly” things, like painting their nails.
During the school year, Kameron and Dowda usually met once a week through the Oliver Hill Mentoring Program, housed at the historic Oliver Hill house on Gilmer Avenue in Roanoke. The house, decorated with children’s artwork, was a place Copeland felt comfortable leaving his daughter for an hour after she left Highland Park Elementary School.
“I usually let her take the lead,” Dowda said. “If she wants to talk, do homework or play games, we’ll do that.”
The pieces coming together
Research is mixed regarding the effectiveness of mentoring services provided to children with parents who are behind bars. Success depends on a combination of variables. It’s possible that a mentor and mentee won’t be compatible, or that the child’s parents aren’t committed enough to the program.
“One of the issues with these programs is that they can only do so much,” Arditti said.
Other organizations offer mentoring for children of incarcerated parents, including the Boys and Girls Club, which has a club on Ninth Street.
House, with Big Brothers Big Sisters, said the Copeland family exemplifies how a family can remain committed to the mentoring program even in the face of financial or other struggles.
“When all of the pieces come together, mentoring can be really effective,” House said. “For kids, it’s another person who believes in them and isn’t paid to be there.”
Big Brothers Big Sisters of Southwest Virginia paired up 512 children with mentors last year. House said about 22 percent of those children have an incarcerated parent. That percentage has increased almost 10 percent since that specific emphasis within the program started about 10 years ago.
Mentors receive training on how to interact with the children, such as allowing the mentees to bring up their family situation only if they want to.
They’re also encouraged to weave education into their relationship with their Little Brother or Sister.
Dowda says she usually tries to make sure Kameron’s homework is complete or correct her grammar.
“Two weeks later, she’ll point out that she said something correctly,” Dowda said.
Dowda got involved in the program about a year ago because she wanted to help children and said she admired the work Big Brothers Big Sisters does.
Before being paired with Kameron, Dowda went through an interview to assess compatibility as well as training to learn about how to be sensitive to certain issues the children may be going through.
“I was nervous, because I wanted her to like me and for us to get along,” Dowda said.
Beyond the program
After chicken fingers, fries and a sandwich at Cheddar’s, Kameron and Dowda went to Target to pick out an outfit that Kameron could wear when she goes back to school.
“How about this?” Dowda would say, which would elicit from Kameron either a nod of approval or a look that meant she thought it was “old people clothes.”
Then they went to Valley View Mall to stroll around and talk. It was the first time Dowda and Kameron had spent time outside the Oliver Hill house.
Kameron and Dowda have about another year before the mentoring program concludes. After the fifth grade, Big Brothers Big Sisters won’t officially facilitate the relationship, but Kameron said she wants continue to see Dowda because of how much she enjoys spending time with her.
“We’ve got real sisters, and then Kameron’s got Jennie,” said Kameron’s sister Kaniah, flipping through a family photo album in the living room at home. Kaniah, who sometimes begs her father to let her join Kameron and Dowda, hopes one day to get a Big Sister of her own.
On the mantel above the television in the Copelands’ living room are several framed photos of family members. In one photo are Daniel, Kameron, Karon and Kaniah. Tucked into that frame is a photo of Jennie and Kameron, smiling.
By Amy Friedenberger
As Cheddar’s Casual Cafe slowly began to fill with the lunchtime crowd, giggles from two people in a booth stuck out.
“You know, if you order fish, they take it out of there?” a woman said, nodding toward a large tank filled with yellow and blue exotic fish.
“Really?” said a little girl, leaning against the table. “Nuh-uh.”
The two shared many laughs during their lunch at the Valley View Mall restaurant, the sources of amusement ranging from jokes to photos on the woman’s phone.
Daniel Copeland said he always notices that his daughter Kameron, the giggling little girl with a tight bun, is in brighter spirits after she returns from seeing 30-year-old Jennie Dowda.
“They’re like two peas in a pod,” Copeland said.
Dowda started spending time with Kameron, 9, last fall. She’s Kameron’s Big Sister — just not biologically. Dowda and Kameron were paired up through the Big Brothers Big Sisters mentoring program nearly a year ago. Kameron’s father thought the program would benefit her by providing a positive female role model while her mother serves out a prison sentence.
“I like her because she’s funny,” Kameron said about Dowda.
Experts say children of incarcerated parents face many challenges, from mental and physical health problems to education struggles and involvement in delinquent behavior. Mentoring programs around the country, like the one that nonprofit Big Brothers Big Sisters of Southwest Virginia offers, try to support such youth by making a positive difference in the multiple areas of child development that may suffer while a parent is locked up.
While not a separate program, Big Brothers Big Sisters recognizes that children of incarcerated parents may have different needs than other youth considered to be “at-risk” — whether it be that they live in a single-parent home, have a low socioeconomic status or receive low grades. Big Brothers Big Sisters trains its employees and mentors on how to address the struggles children with a parent behind bars may face.
“When you’re a child, carrying burdens on your shoulders and a fear that is very real can be hard,” said June House, president and CEO of Big Brothers Big Sisters of Southwest Virginia. “Throwing a Frisbee or baking cookies with a mentor can sometimes be just enough for them to think that life’s not so bad or there is hope for the future.”
‘The mom of the house’
About a year ago, Copeland and Kameron walked to Sweet Union Baptist Church in northwest Roanoke for a festival. He approached a Big Brothers Big Sisters booth; the people there already expected him. Kameron’s mother had sent a letter to the organization about getting her daughter involved in its mentoring program.
“My name is Nicole Copeland and I’m currently being held in the Roanoke City Jail,” she wrote in a neat script. “I left my husband and three (3) little children out there without a mom because of my poor choices. I’m from the Northern Virginia area with no family here in Roanoke. I thank God every day for my husband (Daniel), because if it weren’t for him I don’t know where my children would be. Daniel is a good father, hardworking and a provider. I know that they would greatly benefit from the mentoring program.”
Nicole Tiffany Copeland, 47, has been in and out of jail or prison for various offenses. She’s currently serving a 22-month sentence for violating probation and is housed at Central Virginia Correctional Unit 13 in Chesterfield County. In 2008, she pleaded guilty to petit larceny, eluding law enforcement and driving without a license. She’s scheduled to be released Aug. 25.
Because of the long distance between their house and the prison, Copeland’s three youngest children — who also include energetic Karon, 8, and Kaniah, 7 — don’t get to see their mother much. Kameron knows about her mother’s situation, but she doesn’t talk about it.
Even for Daniel Copeland, talking about his wife causes his voice to quiver.
“We stand by her and support her,” he said.
Copeland runs a busy single-parent household. He has a job in construction, which keeps the family on a tight budget, but he says it’s “good, honest money.” He and his wife also have six older children who live in Northern Virginia.
Within the family in Roanoke, Kameron sometimes assumes a caretaking role — tying a sibling’s shoe, braiding her sister’s hair or irritably rallying everyone for dinner. After her brother and sister finish their vegetables, hot dogs and macaroni and cheese, Kameron starts washing the dishes.
“I like cooking,” she said while clearing plates from the table, staying focused on the task.
Her father sees how the mentoring program has helped Kameron, such as providing her with an outlet to have some fun away from the responsibilities at the house.
“Kameron is like the mom of the house caring for the little ones, and I can see it burning her down,” Copeland said.
Internalizing the shame
About 1.7 million youth in the United States have at least one parent currently in prison, according to a report published last fall from the Office of Juvenile Justice and Delinquency Prevention. Millions more have a parent in a local jail.
Lisa Kinney, a spokeswoman with the Virginia Department of Corrections, said the state does not track how many Virginia prison inmates have children.
The Roanoke City Jail, where Nicole Copeland briefly stayed before her transfer to prison, does not keep those statistics either, said sheriff’s office spokeswoman Lauren Dunne.
Experts say that, in certain cases, the trauma and struggles that children face are collateral damage of the criminal actions of their parents. Research suggests that the incarceration of a parent can increase the likelihood that youth become involved in antisocial and delinquent behavior.
Joyce Arditti, a professor of human development at Virginia Tech whose research focuses on criminal justice and the effects on families, said children who have an incarcerated parent are a strongly stigmatized group.
“The stigma complicates the loss because it isolates people,” she said. “The children internalize the shame.”
Daniel Copeland worried about that happening with Kameron. He saw his daughter trying to remain tough, but he knew it was eating away at her inside.
“She’ll be strong, but I can see it bothers her, especially when we go around and we’ll see all the other mothers with their kids,” he said, choking back tears with Kameron at his side.
He didn’t like taking Kameron to see other family members because they would insult her mother in front of her. And he worried about what others would say — or think but not say — about her because her mother was serving time.
These concerns, along with his worry that he couldn’t provide Kameron with the experiences a mother typically provides daughters, led him to seek a mentor for her.
“I can’t do the girly things,” he said.
Dowda and Kameron spend a lot of their time talking, playing games or doing those typical “girly” things, like painting their nails.
During the school year, Kameron and Dowda usually met once a week through the Oliver Hill Mentoring Program, housed at the historic Oliver Hill house on Gilmer Avenue in Roanoke. The house, decorated with children’s artwork, was a place Copeland felt comfortable leaving his daughter for an hour after she left Highland Park Elementary School.
“I usually let her take the lead,” Dowda said. “If she wants to talk, do homework or play games, we’ll do that.”
The pieces coming together
Research is mixed regarding the effectiveness of mentoring services provided to children with parents who are behind bars. Success depends on a combination of variables. It’s possible that a mentor and mentee won’t be compatible, or that the child’s parents aren’t committed enough to the program.
“One of the issues with these programs is that they can only do so much,” Arditti said.
Other organizations offer mentoring for children of incarcerated parents, including the Boys and Girls Club, which has a club on Ninth Street.
House, with Big Brothers Big Sisters, said the Copeland family exemplifies how a family can remain committed to the mentoring program even in the face of financial or other struggles.
“When all of the pieces come together, mentoring can be really effective,” House said. “For kids, it’s another person who believes in them and isn’t paid to be there.”
Big Brothers Big Sisters of Southwest Virginia paired up 512 children with mentors last year. House said about 22 percent of those children have an incarcerated parent. That percentage has increased almost 10 percent since that specific emphasis within the program started about 10 years ago.
Mentors receive training on how to interact with the children, such as allowing the mentees to bring up their family situation only if they want to.
They’re also encouraged to weave education into their relationship with their Little Brother or Sister.
Dowda says she usually tries to make sure Kameron’s homework is complete or correct her grammar.
“Two weeks later, she’ll point out that she said something correctly,” Dowda said.
Dowda got involved in the program about a year ago because she wanted to help children and said she admired the work Big Brothers Big Sisters does.
Before being paired with Kameron, Dowda went through an interview to assess compatibility as well as training to learn about how to be sensitive to certain issues the children may be going through.
“I was nervous, because I wanted her to like me and for us to get along,” Dowda said.
Beyond the program
After chicken fingers, fries and a sandwich at Cheddar’s, Kameron and Dowda went to Target to pick out an outfit that Kameron could wear when she goes back to school.
“How about this?” Dowda would say, which would elicit from Kameron either a nod of approval or a look that meant she thought it was “old people clothes.”
Then they went to Valley View Mall to stroll around and talk. It was the first time Dowda and Kameron had spent time outside the Oliver Hill house.
Kameron and Dowda have about another year before the mentoring program concludes. After the fifth grade, Big Brothers Big Sisters won’t officially facilitate the relationship, but Kameron said she wants continue to see Dowda because of how much she enjoys spending time with her.
“We’ve got real sisters, and then Kameron’s got Jennie,” said Kameron’s sister Kaniah, flipping through a family photo album in the living room at home. Kaniah, who sometimes begs her father to let her join Kameron and Dowda, hopes one day to get a Big Sister of her own.
On the mantel above the television in the Copelands’ living room are several framed photos of family members. In one photo are Daniel, Kameron, Karon and Kaniah. Tucked into that frame is a photo of Jennie and Kameron, smiling.
