WALLA WALLA, Wash. -- Adrian Gatlin waits in a room decorated with red Christmas stockings and cartoon fish.

A series of numbered tables are spread across the floor. Vending machines hum quietly, and tattered board games are stacked on shelves, waiting to be opened.

Winter break will begin in a few days.

Thirteen-year-old Adrian sits at one of the tables with his aunt and two siblings, absentmindedly playing a game of checkers.

His eyes dart to the armed prison guard, to the barbed-wire fence outside the window, to the clock.

He hasn't seen his dad in almost four years. He tells himself he won't feel anything, that he doesn't care.

Then Bobby walks through the door wearing white tennis shoes and blue prison garb. He looks the same as Adrian remembers, although his hair is a little longer and he's gained a few pounds.

Without hesitation, Adrian lunges to his feet and rushes into his dad's waiting arms. Alongside his sister and brother, Adrian holds onto his father tightly, unwilling to let go. Tears well in his eyes. No one says a word.

Brian Cox, Adrian's mentor, watches the reunion and smiles. Like Adrian, he too had long waited for this moment.

******

Nearly two years ago, Cox began mentoring half-brothers Adrian Gatlin and Jordan Avila of Yakima through a mentorship program at the Southeast Yakima Community Center.

The program matches children of incarcerated parents with caring adults, who expose them to everything from camping and skiing to museums and career opportunities.

The hope is to convince kids that they aren't destined to follow in their parents' footsteps.

Cox is a state social worker who cares passionately about helping disadvantaged youths. He is married with two grown children and three grown stepchildren, and he wanted to contribute to the program.

"I learned quickly for myself that in order to improve the lives of children, everyone needs to get involved," Cox, 61, says. "That means me."

Before meeting the boys, Cox was worried they'd be troublemakers. Their mother told him they weren't listening to her. Their grades were suffering and they were getting into fights at school.

Cox also knew that 34-year-old Bobby Gatlin, the boys' father, was serving a life sentence at the Washington State Penitentiary in Walla Walla, a prison for roughly 2,000 long-term and violent offenders. Gatlin was convicted in 2005 of attempted murder.

Cox didn't want to interfere with the boys' relationship with Gatlin or their stepfather, who was stretched too thin supporting his family. What Cox wanted was to help the boys discover their dreams.

Cox has taken them to the Meadowbrook Family Fun Center and various businesses. He attended their football games, and he gave them allowances for completing chores.

Cox quickly learned that Adrian, now 13, is the athletic one with the gift for gab. Jordan, now 10, is quiet, fearless and intuitive.

"When I introduced them to people in the community who had success or lived another life, they were fascinated by it," Cox says. "I brought them to an ordinary restaurant, and they thought it was extraordinary. They didn't think they could go in."

The more time he spent with the boys, the more Cox learned about them. Their mother was unemployed and their stepfather was a farm laborer. Now he, too, is unemployed.

They had five other siblings, and the family had lived together in an East Yakima apartment that had been burglarized three times. After the boys witnessed a gang shooting a year and a half ago, the family moved to a nearby modest, four-bedroom house decorated with mementos of their Mexican heritage.

To survive, they have depended on food stamps and help from Shepherd Heart Church.

"Over time, I learned about the trauma they've had to live through, the struggles they've faced," Cox says about the boys. "I became their fan."

******

Marisol Gil had known Bobby Gatlin since the fourth grade. She gave birth to their first child at 15. They married when she was 22.

Over the course of their relationship, they parented four children together. Gatlin supported the family by working as a forklift operator, and during his free time he enjoyed playing video games and flying kites with the kids.

He was their protector, their hero, Gil says. He was the person who stood up to bullies, who rushed home when the boys' bikes were stolen to find them and bring them back.

But he was far from perfect.

"He was in the picture with my first child," she says. "He was in prison when my second child was born."

During their 11-year marriage, Gil saw Gatlin use drugs and befriend criminals. The couple fought, and the relationship became abusive. For a long time, Gil told herself the violence was OK, because at least her kids had a dad.

But eventually, even she couldn't deny the harm it was causing their children.

"My daughter asked me to leave him one time, when she was 5," Gil says. "I thought about me. I needed to get out of it, so I did."

The couple divorced in 2003. Two years later, Gatlin was convicted of attempted murder. He was sentenced to life in prison as a three-strikes offender. His previous crimes included first-degree burglary and robbery, for which he served about seven years.

After the last conviction, Adrian began crying every night. His grades began to drop; so did Jordan's. The boys fought all the time, with each other and with her. Gil had to pick them up from school repeatedly because of their behavioral problems. She lost two jobs as a result.

She was afraid Adrian and Jordan would follow in their father's footsteps, so she turned to the Children of Incarcerated Parents Mentoring Program for help.

That's how she met Cox. She could immediately sense he was a kind man, a caring man. She knew he would be a good role model for her boys.

"I thank God for this program," she says. "It honestly changed my life, my whole family's life."

******

When Adrian and Jordan first met Cox, they had trouble believing he was there to stay.

Then he took them camping. He attended family birthday parties and quinceañeras, and he treated them to ice cream and dinners. Cox even introduced Adrian to an architect once he knew of the teenager's dream to become one.

Cox called the brothers a couple times a week and saw them several times a month. After six months, Adrian and Jordan knew they could count on Cox for anything.

"He's cool," Adrian says. "When we want to do something, we call him and go somewhere. He's fun to be around."

They thought of Gatlin as an absentee dad, a friend. Their stepfather wasn't actively involved in their daily lives, since he was busy providing for the family. Cox, meanwhile, was dependable, the stable one.

Last summer, Cox gave the boys new bikes to reward them for their improved grades and behavior. As soon as the bikes arrived, the brothers strapped on their helmets, honked their horns and smiled from ear to ear. Their mom and stepdad, too, celebrated the occasion.

"It's tight, huh?" Adrian boasts. "It's like a car. It has a spring seat, a horn. It has everything."

"It feels great," Jordan adds. "I'm happy!"

Seeing the excitement on their faces was his own gift, Cox says. He wants the boys to learn they can achieve anything through hard work and perseverance.

"Nothing could be better for them than getting these kinds of bikes. We are giving them bigger dreams," Cox says.

The bicycles weren't the only highlight of the summer. The trio tried their hand at the batting cages. They soaked each other with water at an activities park. They drove go-carts and visited the Yakama Nation Cultural Center in Toppenish.

Without Cox in their lives, Adrian and Jordan say they would never have had these experiences.

"Brian is like a substitute dad," Adrian says. "When we need him, he's there."

******

There's been talk of visiting their dad in prison for months. Now it's more than talk. The visit is set.

"I'm really excited," Jordan says. "I haven't seen him for a long time. I want to ask him what it's like in there."

In some ways, the boys admit to not really knowing their dad because he hasn't been around for four years. They talk and exchange letters, but it's not the same.

"Yeah, it's hard," Adrian says about the separation. "He's far away. He's really far. He's missing out on hanging out with me."

When friends ask where their father is, the boys say he's in prison and they don't know why. They have an idea about what he did, but they don't know the details. They don't want to know.

"I'm afraid that would change how I feel about him," Adrian says.

The brothers remember a lot of things about their dad. He likes loud stereos, big trucks and muscle cars. He lifted weights and beat everyone at chess. He relished playing video games, but if he lost one too many times, he'd turn off the game and walk away.

When he went to prison, the boys were mad for a long time. Then his absence became normal.

They've tried talking to their dad about prison life, but he doesn't reveal much. He doesn't want them to worry, and shelters them from the details. All he says is that prison is a place where Adrian and Jordan never want to be.

"Dad says jail isn't fun, that it's boring," Adrian says. "He has an appeal coming up. There's a high chance he's getting out."

The boys don't know how they feel about seeing their dad again. One moment they're excited. Then they're anxious, nervous. They don't know what to expect.

Their mother is also conflicted about the visit. She wants her sons to learn from their father's mistakes. But she's leery about letting them become too close, especially since Gatlin chose a life of crime over being a dependable parent.

"Bobby wants to get close to the boys, but I think he's lost that chance," she says.

For years, she kept the boys away from their dad because of her own anger. Only after going to church and talking to her pastor did she learn to forgive.

As for Cox, he feels at peace about meeting Gatlin. He's even looking forward to it.

"Because their dad is locked up doesn't mean they'll be locked up," he says. "I expect this will set them free."

******

Although their mom stays home, the boys drive more than two hours to the prison with their mentor, their sister and an aunt. They trudge through snow, a series of hallways and security.

Then, after nearly four years, the wait ends. They're with their dad again.

"I had no feelings for him, then they just came to me," Adrian says about the reunion. "It was weird. ... I didn't think I would cry, then I just did."

At the prison, the boys question Gatlin about the food he eats, how he spends his time. They tell stories about family members and school. They play board games.

Cox watches the family commiserate from a few feet away, but he doesn't interfere. He wants to give them their privacy. After awhile, he quietly chats with Gatlin about how Adrian needs a math tutor. Gatlin agrees Adrian could use the extra help.

After four hours of talking and playing games, the visit ends. The family gets up from their table for more hugs, more tears. They say their good-byes and promise to see each other again, soon.

As they leave, Gatlin can't keep his eyes off his kids, off the door that closes behind them.

"It felt like a tease," Gatlin says after they're gone. "It's been so long since I got to hug them. To watch them leave was like losing them all over again. But I'm still grateful they got to come."

Gatlin hadn't known he was going to see his family that day. When he was taken from his cell, he thought he was in trouble for something. But then he was brought to the room with his children, and his anxiety was replaced with euphoria.

He didn't mind that Cox tagged along. He's grateful for everything the man has done for his family. Still, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't jealous, if seeing someone else mentor his boys wasn't difficult.

"I should be the one there doing it," Gatlin says. "But being where I am, I'm glad they have somebody to do things with. They get to grow up in a different way than if they didn't have somebody."

Gatlin admits he's made mistakes. He's been in and out of jail for most of his life. He was raised to believe that if he didn't have something, he could take it.

He doesn't want his boys to follow his example, and he thinks Cox can help.

"My boys have talked to me about their mentor. I'm all for that," Gatlin says. "I'm all for anything that helps the boys. I'm happy there is a program like this."

Gatlin wants a close relationship with his sons. He wants them to know they can turn to him for anything, that he'll always love them and accept them, no matter what.

He wants that chance.

"If I could be there now, I'd share things with them," he says, nostalgically. "That would be great."

******

Gatlin has told the boys not to get their hopes up about his appeal, that he might remain in prison for a long time. Until he knows more, the family will bring the boys to see him at least twice a year.

This isn't good enough for the boys, who had already started thinking about a life with their dad. They have started failing their classes again.

Adrian is faring the worst. Because of behavioral and medical problems related to attention-deficit (hyperactivity) disorder, he's missed more than two months of classes this school year. He's taking medication paid for with medical coupons.

Adrian was recently suspended from Lewis & Clark Middle School for getting into a fight. Now his mom and stepdad are educating him at home.

They hope to transfer Adrian to Washington Middle School, where he was enrolled before the family moved. Still, Adrian will most likely have to repeat eighth grade, Gil says.

"I felt kind of disappointed as a mom, disappointed with myself," says Gil, a full-time student at Yakima Valley Community College. "It's really hard for me, frustrating. I think I'm at the point where I need counseling."

Cox has stepped in to lend additional support. He's attended parent/teacher conferences. He brokered a deal between Adrian and his parents, allowing the teenager to earn computer time for completing his school work. Cox also takes the boys to Sonic Drive-In on the weekends -- if both of them earned good grades that week.

The ups and downs have been like a roller-coaster ride, Cox admits. But he's not going anywhere. He knows Adrian and Jordan depend on him, and he's willing to do whatever is necessary to help them succeed.

"I never thought I'd have feelings like this again after raising five children," he says, eyes welling with unshed tears. "Sometimes it's hard, but I love these children. ... They make me young. They delight me."

* Erin Snelgrove can be reached at 577-7684 or esnelgrove@yakimaherald.com.

Children of Incarcerated Parents  Mentoring Program
According to the National Association of School Psychologists, children with parents in prison are five times more likely than the average child to commit crimes and be imprisoned.

Determined to change this statistic, community activist Ester Huey launched the Children of Incarcerated Parents Mentoring Program at the Southeast Yakima Community Center in 2006. Its purpose is to pair 5- to 17-year-olds with caring mentors who will steer them away from lives of crime.

The mentors expose children to various career opportunities and fun experiences, from skiing to visiting museums.

The program receives $30,000 in funding each year from the local chapter of Casey Family Programs, an organization that strives to provide, improve and ultimately prevent the need for foster care. Volunteers also contribute heavily to the program.

For more information, contact Ester Huey at 575-6114.