RALEIGH -- Joseph R. Dombrowski III squeezed his 9-year-old son tight Saturday after the two competed together in a tag-team relay race.
An inmate at Wake Correctional Center, Dombrowski, 36, had the look of a stone-cold tough-guy, with a shaved head and straggly foot-long goatee. But the convict beamed unabashedly as the boy held his neck, relishing the moment.
Dombrowski was one of 23 inmates from Wake Correctional who spent the day with their children as part of a "One Day With God" camp at Raleigh's First Assembly of God. The program, run by Forgiven Ministry, seeks to strengthen bonds between inmates and their young sons and daughters.
Hugs are few and far between behind bars. Dombrowski, from Raleigh, is six years into a 10-year stretch for trafficking in cocaine.
His son and namesake, Joseph IV, was a toddler when his father went away. The two exchange regular letters, but opportunities for face-to-face meetings are rare and short.
"No one expects their life to spin out of control," the inmate said as his son went to grab a slice of pizza. "Because of mistakes I made, I hurt the ones I love most."
To participate in the camp, inmates must not have received an infraction for violating prison rules for at least six months and must adhere to a case plan that may involve a work assignment or vocational training.
James Langston, the superintendent at Wake Correctional, said inmates stay on their best behavior, knowing a slipup will keep them from attending the camp.
Inmates who manage to keep a close relationship with family are less likely to lapse into crime after they are released and return to prison. Studies show children who have an incarcerated parent also are far more likely to someday end up in prison themselves.
"All these men will be released back into society within five years," said Langston, who has worked for the N.C. Department of Correction for 31 years. "I hope when they get out they will have a positive influence on their children."
For inmates serving long sentences, those relationships can be tough to maintain. Marriages often wilt under the strain of years of separation, and incarcerated fathers can't help with homework or coach Little League.
Weekend visits at the prison are typically limited to two hours and only three visitors at a time - a wrenching challenge for inmates like the father of five who on Saturday saw his children all together for the first time in years.
Camp activities included a tug-of-war, clowns and a puppet show mixed with healthy doses of praise, prayer and song. There was also a giant cake to substitute for years of missed birthdays.
The ministry was founded in 2000 by Scottie Barnes of Taylorsville, a former hairdresser who now organizes the events full time.
Daddy was a convict
Barnes' own father was a gambler and drug kingpin whom she first remembers visiting in prison while he was serving the first of what would be several long sentences. Four decades later, he died behind bars. Barnes soon began speaking to church groups and inmates about what it was like to grow up with a convict for a daddy.
"I first heard him say he loved me in front of a federal judge when I was 41 years old," Barnes said Saturday. "God prepared me for this ministry all of my life, turning something bad into good."
Wake Correctional is a minimum security prison, and all those participating in Saturday's camp are serving sentences for nonviolent offenses. But Barnes has held dozens of similar events for prisons across North Carolina and in other states, some with higher custody levels that house rapists and murderers.
The correctional officers lining the back of the church gym Saturday had all volunteered to be there, earning comp time for sacrificing weekend time with their own families. Angela Smith, the assistant superintendent for programs at Wake Correctional, emphasized that no taxpayer money was used for the event.
Five years apart
Before Saturday, inmate Raeford A. Winchester, sentenced to 14 years in 2001 for being a habitual felon, had not seen his daughter in five years. His son, who he had not seen in a year, also was there.
"I'm still in shock," said Winchester, 44, referring to how much the girl, now 15, had grown. "I want her to know that she can talk to me about anything."
Inmate Chris D. Drye, 44, was sentenced in 2006 to five years and 10 months for a drug offense. His daughter, then 3 years old, is now 7. The two get to see each other only a couple of times a year, but he tries to stay connected through letters.
"Anything I can do to keep that bond I'm going to do," said Drye, who is looking forward to his release date in 2011.
Every inmate, it seemed, knew the exact day he is scheduled to go home. For Dombrowski, the date is April 13, 2013.
"I look forward to spending the rest of my life with him," the inmate said of his son.
