Girl Scouts with parents in prison learn lesson in trusting police

The 9-year-old girl was sleeping at the foot of her mother's bed the night police raided their home. Smoke grenades shattered windows. Sirens screamed. Someone picked up the child and put her in the back of a car.

Her mother went away a year that time.

She's 14 now, and her mother is back in prison. She'll be an adult before her mother is released.

For the teen and others like her, the moment a parent is handcuffed the black-and-white conventions of childhood disappear in the back seat of a patrol car. Good guys and bad guys are no longer neatly divided between cops and crooks.

"I used to get mad at them," the teen says of police. She didn't want her name used.

Leaders of the Western Washington Girl Scouts Beyond Bars program say a parent's arrest can leave kids scared and angry at law enforcement. Changing those perceptions is one goal of the program, which has two troops exclusively for girls with mothers who are incarcerated or have served time in prison.

Girl Scouts offers Beyond Bars programs in 26 states. About 60 girls, ages 5 to 17, are registered for the two Western Washington troops.

Like other troops, members earn merit badges and sell cookies. But the program also has staff trained to work with at-risk youth and emphasizes giving girls a chance to think critically about life choices and the issues tied to having a parent in prison, said local program manager Alexia Everett.

Part of that is confronting fears of police.

"Our girls have severe trauma surrounding law enforcement," Everett said.

The research base is too limited to quantify how likely a child is to follow in the footsteps of an incarcerated parent, but parent criminal behavior puts children at an increased risk, said scientist Mark Eddy from the Oregon Social Learning Center.

"If you have a parent who is heavily involved in crime ... you as a child are three to six times more likely than your peers to display serious anti-social behavior in late adolescence or early adulthood," Eddy said.

Poverty, fluctuating caregivers, unstable living conditions, domestic violence and substance abuse in the family are conditions often faced by children of incarcerated parents, according to a 2007 study of a mentorship program by the University of Washington.

The two area troops make monthly visits to Washington Corrections Center for Women near Gig Harbor to participate in Girl Scout activities with mothers, like puppet-making or cooking. Mother-daughter activities are tied to what the girls have been learning in troop — be it nutrition or conflict-solving skills.

While driving Scouts to the prison, Everett noticed many girls would duck when they saw a patrol car. It gave her the idea for a workshop to present law enforcement in a more positive light.

In March, Everett paired with Detective Kim Bogucki, 43, of the Seattle Police Department's Community Outreach Unit. She accompanied troop leaders to the corrections center to discuss the idea with the girls' mothers.

"If your daughter was the victim of a crime, would she call police to help her?" Bogucki asked.

"Some said, '... We told them a long time ago to never answer the door to police.' " Bogucki recalled.

The mothers were enthusiastic. The girls weren't. Some were downright scared, troop leaders said.

Bogucki began going to troop meetings. When she was introduced as a police officer, one 8-year-old clenched her fists and ran to a troop leader, shaking.

"In my 20 years in law enforcement, I've never seen anyone so terrified of me," she said.

But she kept coming. Once comfortable, girls began engaging her in tense, emotional conversations about police. One girl told Bogucki she hated police because they took her mother away and she was placed with Child Protective Services. Bogucki talked it through, explaining why police do things the way they do.

In June, both troops met at a Federal Way church for the workshop. Six female officers, including Bogucki, were there.

Girls learned scenes where they role-played the parts of police officer, delinquent youth and driver caught speeding to explore the role of law enforcement. They took turns presenting in preparation for sharing the skits at their next prison visit.

Last month, they headed to the corrections center. A visitation room with long tables, heavy metal doors and a surveillance window served as recital hall.

One skit was about teens caught smoking pot in a park. The irony wasn't lost on Renata Abramson, 44, who is in prison until 2015 on drug and firearms convictions. Her 14-year-old daughter played the cop.

"She's from a family — all of us being criminals," Abramson said, motioning to her daughter.

All but one of Abramson's five siblings have spent time in prison. Abramson's mother also did time. She has a 26-year-old daughter in prison; they were arrested together in 2006. Her son is in jail in Montana.

Having grown up in a rough area where police were seen as enemies, Abramson said she taught her children likewise.

" 'Never talk to them, never say anything.' " said Abramson, repeating what she told her children. "I'm not saying it's the best way, but it was the only way I knew."

Abramson was grateful her two youngest, 7 and 14, had the opportunity to learn about police from Girl Scouts.

"Once I knew what they did I thought they [police] were good, they were just doing their job," said the 14-year-old who had witnessed the home raid when she was 9.

Nyree Jones, 11, sat on her mom's lap, grabbing her arms and hugging them around her waist. Tonya Jones, 41, has been in prison for 7-½ years on a murder conviction for the death of her husband, Nyree's father. She'll be out in 2012.

It's important children know calling police doesn't always result in someone going to prison, even though that's what happened to her, Jones said. Sometimes police are merely a mediator — something Jones said she wished she knew before a fight with her husband turned fatal.

"Even if they was to take one of us away," Jones said, "I'd rather one of us spend a night in jail than one of us end up dead."

Nyree thinks her fellow Scouts are more at ease since meeting with officers.

"They were like, 'Oh, we didn't do anything, why are they coming?' " Nyree said. "I think they feel a lot better now."

Everett, the Beyond Bars program manager, has also noted improvement since the girls first met Detective Bogucki. Recently, she was driving the girls home after a troop meeting when a speeding driver cut in front of them.

"Ooh, get his license-plate number," said one girl, who'd seen her mother arrested four times. "I'm going to call Officer Kim."

Leslie Anne Jones: 206-464-2745 or ljones@seattletimes.com