Head Start in Oakland County:
A Fresh Start for Kids, Jailed Moms
The Connections program
brings them all together Lori Higgins, Detroit Free Press, December 9, 2004
Sheena Jones grabs her son with such force she lifts his little legs off
the ground, then she covers his face with kisses, rocking him back and
forth while the words "I love you" echo in his ear.
"One more big hug," she begs Anthony, 5, who's more than happy to oblige.
"He doesn't want to let go today," remarks teacher Tami Kirkendolph.
It is the end of a home visit for this mother and son, participants in
Head Start, a federal preschool readiness program.
But what's happening here is anything but traditional.
Not when the home is the Oakland County Jail and Anthony is led down a
long hallway, past a large room full of women inmates to a brightly lit,
sterile room where his mother, a 22-year-old Pontiac woman, is waiting.
There, the two read a book, play games and talk about the holidays.
Anthony boasts about how he's become a good listener in school. Jones
tickles him, touches his face and gives him enough hugs to last a
lifetime, or at least the next two weeks, until they see each other again.
This is how they stay connected.
That's the idea behind this rare Head Start program, where children and
teachers are brought into the county jail in Pontiac. Most Head Start
programs take place in schools, community agencies or in the homes of
parents.
This one is run by the Oakland Livingston Human Service Agency and is
supported by the Oakland County Sheriff's Office and other community
agencies. It is called Connections.
"It's nice to be able to see him and touch him," Jones said Nov. 23. She
went to jail in April after being convicted of home invasion. She is to be
released this month.
One goal, besides education, is to maintain the bond between mother and
child at a crucial time in their lives. Another goal is to give the moms
an incentive to turn their lives around and avoid becoming repeat
offenders.
"That bond can be severed, and we want to prevent that from happening,"
said Janice McClain, associate director for family and community
partnerships at the human service agency.
Nicole Kuttkuhn says she felt that bond slipping away as she made phone
calls from the jail. She'd cry quietly as her daughter Kyleigh Klank told
her she had "a new mommy." Hearing that son Thomas Klank was having
serious behavior problems only added to the frustration.
"I couldn't do anything about it," said Kuttkuhn, 27, who spent eight
months in jail, beginning in January, for violating probation on a
drunken-driving conviction. Her children -- Thomas, 6, Kyleigh, 5, and
Alyssa Klank, 3--were placed in foster care.
Kuttkuhn was released in September, just a month after her kids made their
first visit with her through Connections. It was a hard-fought victory for
her and the Connections staff who advocated for her to be in the program.
There was resistance, because the children's therapist recommended against
visits and a court order initially prevented it. Debra Jeffries, the
children's foster care mother, also was skeptical.
"I'm guilty. I was not keen on the idea," Jeffries said. "I've seen people
in jail. That's not something I want a 6-year-old to see."
What changed minds? First, the location. Instead of the main jail, the
women in this program are housed in a work-release facility because of
jail crowding. It is a less intimidating environment, without cells and
bars. The women have all been convicted of minor, nonviolent crimes.
Second, there was the immediate change Jeffries and others saw in the
Klank children. Thomas and Kyleigh stopped acting out. Alyssa became a
chatterbox.
"After they started seeing mom, the little fits of rage pretty much
stopped," Jeffries said. Thomas "used to cry, 'I miss my Mom' every day.
He hasn't cried that since he started visiting her."
The change was most dramatic in Kuttkuhn, who a year ago was abusing
alcohol and dabbling in crack cocaine. A Commerce Township native and
graduate of Walled Lake Central High School, she had three drunken-driving
convictions when she was arrested again for violating probation by
drinking.
When the children were taken away, Kuttkuhn said, she was "a complete
mess." But then Connections arrived and, "I had a glimmer of hope." She
now gets weekly supervised visits.
She also is getting the help she needs, thanks in part to the connections
she made through the Head Start program. She attends intensive outpatient
therapy three days a week, from 11 a.m. to 3 p.m. There, she takes
parenting classes and gets help for her substance abuse and relationship
issues. She also attends regular Alcoholics Anonymous and Narcotics
Anonymous meetings.
"It's the most important thing in my life, staying clean and staying
sober," she said Nov. 29. "If I don't make this No. 1 in my life,
everything will fall apart."
Strong communication Head Start is a federal program begun in the 1960s to help prepare
low-income children for school and to connect their families to needed
community services. In Oakland County, 1,601 children are served, directly
by agency staff or through contracts the agency has with 15 school
districts.
But Connections is different.
In it, a teacher, the child and the child's caregiver visit the jail once
every two weeks, and the child gets one-on-one interaction with the
parent. On alternate weeks, the teacher visits with the child in the
caregiver's home. Social workers and mental health professionals also are
intensely involved in each case.
"The main focus is on keeping that communication strong," said Lynn Crotty,
the agency's director of child development. "Parents that maintain a
strong bond, when they leave, have a much lower recidivism rate."
Initially, some women inmates were wary.
"They didn't know who we were. They didn't know if we were there to assist
them or remove their child," said Janis Grabmiller, the agency's deputy
director of child development. "Now, they don't see us as a threat. They
see us as an advocate."
Jail officials say they love the program because it gets inmates linked to
services they need, both when they're in jail and when they're released.
So many of them have substance abuse problems, and the fear is that
without proper intervention, "they'll revert back to using drugs or
alcohol" once released, said Mark Metalski, chief of jail program
services.
Connections' organizers hope to expand the program, if they can find
enough funding. Now, the program, which began in February, is limited to
10 inmates. The hope is to include male inmates one day.
One hour with kids In a visitation room at the St. Francis Family Center in Southfield, a
program of Catholic Social Services, Kuttkuhn is making the most of the
hour she has with her children. She softly strokes Alyssa's cheek and runs
her fingers through her straight, brown hair as she learns the girl missed
preschool that day because she was sick.
"Did your tummy hurt? Does it feel better now?" she asks Alyssa.
When Kyleigh gives her a big hug and an "I love you," Kuttkuhn hugs back,
just as strong. "I love you too, my little princess."
And to Thomas, the oldest who sits quietly eating a Lean Pockets pepperoni
pizza and playing with a whale puzzle, Kuttkuhn asks, "Is it hard for you
to eat without your teeth up front?"
"Kind of," Thomas responds, showing her the big gap after he lost his baby
teeth.
That hour, Kuttkuhn said, "goes so fast. It's hard because I wish I had
three different visits. I feel like I'm not able to give as much equal
time."
But she knows this is the way it has to be. For now. She has to get her
life back in order before she's ready to be a full-time parent. That will
happen soon, she says. It will be up to the court to decide.
"I've learned so much," Kuttkuhn said. "I'm not the same person I was a
year ago."
