Quentin Hudson Perry sat quietly at a front table in the dining hall on the sprawling campus of United Methodist Family Services on West Broad Street last night.

He worked on a hot dog and a can of orange soda, one foot swinging beneath his chair, waiting for the arrival of Santa. But he is mature for a 10-year-old and explains that giving is the most important thing about Christmas.

Quentin plans gifts for his mother, grandmother and brother. He is not sure if or how he can get a gift for his father, who is behind bars 75 miles south of Richmond.

Crimes serious enough to warrant prison leave behind many victims. Children like Quentin are sometimes the forgotten ones, says Fran Bolin, executive director of Assisting Families of Inmates Inc.

This can be a tough time of year for them, she added.

Quentin was one of more than a dozen children, from infants to teens, attending a Christmas party arranged by the Richmond chapter of Citizens United for Rehabilitation of Errants and Children of Promise, a United Methodist Family Services mentoring program.

Most of the children have a father be- hind bars. In some cases, those with mothers who are incarcerated have fathers who have died.

More than half of the more than 1.4 million adults in prison across America nearly 31,000 in Virginia -- are believed to be parents, according to a report last year by the Urban Institute's Justice Policy Center. Of that number, 65 percent have minor children.

The Virginia Department of Corrections now holds more than 2,000 inmates from the city of Richmond.

Experts say the loss of a parent to prison disrupts parent-child relationships, can cause or add to emotional or behavioral problems and places additional burdens on government services.

Visiting their parents can be difficult, if not impossible. Nationally, women inmates are housed an average of 160 miles from their children and male inmates an average of more than 100 miles.

Bolin's group, based in a downtown Richmond church, helps arrange bus rides for family members to visit inmates scattered in 30 prisons.

"Obviously the holidays are something that we stress for these children and their families," said Bolin.

Many of the caregivers are maternal grandmothers who never expected to be raising children again, she said, adding, "they definitely need the extra help."

Her group is preparing to distribute some 55 to 60 food boxes and toys collected and donated by churches and scouting organizations.

But Erin Burke, also with Assisting Families, said that, "most of my kids would rather have that parent be there than getting toys and gifts." Burke helps run support-group programs at seven Richmond elementary schools for about 100 children of prison inmates.

"There's a lot of stigma and feelings of abandonment that the children go through," Burke said. There is the fear of the unknown. Many worry about the safety of their parents.

She said that, "while other children are celebrating times with their family . . . for these kids it may be a visit to the prison." Even if they get a visit, she said, "it's short and they don't get to receive gifts."

Quentin's mother was four months pregnant with him when his father, Aaron Andre Hopkins, was locked up. Quentin is now a fifth-grader at Chalkley Elementary School in Chesterfield County.

Hopkins, 29, is serving 12 years for crimes that include cocaine possession, grand larceny, forgery and escape in Hampton and Newport News.

He spent several years at two state prisons in Wise County, nearly 400 miles from the Richmond area. It was too far for Quentin to visit.

Hopkins is now at the Lawrenceville Correctional Center, little more than an hour away by car, and Quentin is able to see him.

The two met for the first time a year or two ago, though they had spoken frequently by phone as Quentin was growing up. Quentin said he was thrilled to meet his father. "He was definitely what I expected," said Quentin.

He hopes to see his father again before Christmas but is not sure he will. The visits are difficult. There are long lines and searches to contend with.

His father, reached by telephone last week, said that he cannot see his son as often as he'd like.

He said they primarily stay in touch by weekly telephone calls. "Whenever I hear from him, whenever I talk to him, it's like a breath of fresh air," said Hopkins.

He said his son's mother, Kimberly Perry, has been wonderful, "but he needs that father figure." Hopkins hopes to play that role more effectively when he is released in May 2008.

Quentin can't wait. On the back of his white T-shirt are blue letters spelling out: "Dedicated to Bringing My Dad Aaron Hopkins Home."

The party last night started out slow, the children entering the dining hall did so tentatively. Things began to swing once the children started eating, seasonal music was turned on and sugar and anticipation took over.

Santa got lost, but he finally showed up, talked to the children and handed out presents to each of them.