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| Voices of Love, BYU Volunteer Helps Prison Moms |
| By Salt Lake Tribune |
| Published: 01/02/2003 |
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Reaching the end of her bedtime story, Aimee Tucker closes the book. 'OK, you guys,' she chirps to her children. 'Good night. Be good. I love you.' But there is no hug, no good-night kiss, not even a plea for a glass of water. Instead, Tucker returns to the group of Utah State Prison inmates and takes a seat. Tucker, 24, has spent four months in prison on drug charges and is looking at a Jan. 7 release date. She talks to her son and daughter on the phone sometimes, and writes them letters. Thanks to Brooke Plothow, however, her children, and those of other inmates, can hear their mothers' voices any time. Since March, Plothow, an 18-year-old Brigham Young University freshman, has been visiting the women's prison as part of her Bedtime Stories program. Funded by a grant from the Provo-based Ashton Family Foundation, the program allows inmates' children to receive taped stories from their mothers. It is receiving rave reviews from inmates, their children and Department of Corrections officials. 'Just one person has made a difference,' said Brenda Holland, the department's program coordinator for religious and volunteer services. Plothow was 16 when she and her father came up with the idea for an LDS young women's service project. She approached and received help from the United Way, then the Ashton Family Foundation. At first, she started with inmates at the Utah County Jail in Spanish Fork, then approached the Department of Corrections about bringing the program to prison inmates. 'I thought that was the cutest idea,' said Carla Alldredge, volunteer services coordinator. 'She's one in a million.' Plothow said her main concern is the children, some of whom don't understand when 'all of a sudden, one day, their mom's not there.' Inmates are pre-screened for the program, and the list must be approved by a corrections official who is familiar with the women, their situations and their behavior. Also, because Plothow usually visits Sunday nights, the women must have attained a privilege level allowing them to be out of their cells at that hour. Inmates fill out a roll sheet upon arrival, with their names and addresses. Each tape is labeled, so Plothow sends the right one to the right children. Plothow was visiting the prison weekly, but has cut back to once a month, which can't come soon enough for the women inmates. 'My little girl has been bugging me for another tape,' said 25-year-old Melanie Nyborg, who has been in prison since August for forgery and burglary convictions and doesn't know when she will be getting out. 'She listened to it so often, it broke.' In the future, Plothow said she would love to be able to send books along with the tapes, so children can read along with their mothers. For now, she is using children's books from libraries, from her own house or from friends' houses. She would also love to send videotapes rather than audiotapes, but that is too expensive. 'The first time, I started crying,' Plothow said. 'I said, 'This is the most emotional thing I've ever done.' But it gets easier.' It's also hard on the inmates. Ginger Butterfield, 21, who has been in prison eight months on a drug possession conviction, said she also started crying the first time she read to her children. 'It's hard to face reality,' she said, 'and know you have to have your bonding moments on tape.' Rosalee Berry, 18, had a son less than two months ago, and is making tapes 'so when he gets bigger, he can hear them.' The baby is living with her mother's parents while Berry serves a sentence for assault. She is getting out Jan. 14, she says. 'I feel like I should be there [with him],' she said. 'I knew what I was sacrificing [when I committed a crime] and I did it anyway.' Veronica Valdez, 30, and other inmates gathered around to sing 'Happy Birthday' to Valdez's son on tape. Valdez, who has been in prison a year and a half for manslaughter, and doesn't go before the state parole board until 2005, cried when relatives told her how excited that made her son. Although her sons are older -- 11 and 13 -- they still enjoy the tapes, she says. As for herself, 'it makes you feel good, but at the end, it kind of gets you down.' Colleen Clawson, serving a sentence for parole violation, is planning on being home for Christmas, as she will be released Dec. 17. She wants the tapes to become a Christmas tradition in her home, she said. Each of the two times she has read to her children, she said, she has read Christmas stories. In the first, she changed the characters' names to match those of her own children. 'I don't want her to forget my voice, or who I am,' said Chelsea Aldrich of her 2-year-old daughter, who is with relatives in Moab. Aldrich has been in prison nearly 11 months for forgery, car theft and burglary convictions. Plothow allows inmates to say a brief message to their children at the story's end. Usually, they just say a quick 'I love you,' she said. 'I've never had anyone want to say more.' Holland wishes more young people like Plothow were willing to volunteer at the prison. Most of the Department of Corrections' volunteers are retired and elderly, she said. Plothow hopes to find more support. Although she wants to continue the program as long as possible, she doesn't want it to 'fizzle and die' when she is older and married, she says. The inmates, also, don't want the program to end. Tucker said her children listen to their tapes every night. 'It gives them a piece of me when I'm not there,' she said. 'I know every night, I'm helping tuck them into bed. My kids pray about it every night -- they want me home.' |

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