For many young people there is too much time spent trying to run from demons or fill voids within themselves. For some of the fortunate ones, someone will come along who will give them a rest from their inner turmoil and give them hope. This may only be for a short time, but that glimpse of hope can make a considerable impact in the lives of these young people.

For me there were a couple of times in my youth when someone, sometimes unwittingly, played a father figure to me. Those moments provided periods of much-needed respite from the emotional storms within.

Mr. Lowry was one of those people.

Big Brothers

I connected with Big Brothers when I was 12 or 13.

I don’t really recall how I first set up with them, but knowing how I was, I am sure I just went to their office or called them to get things rolling. I also don’t recall the details of the application, but I do recall the waiting period – the time taken to find a match.

I am not sure of the norms now, but then it could take 6 months or so to find a big/little brother match. This was the waiting period for the little brothers because there were more little brothers on the list than there were big brothers applying. The big brothers that applied had much shorter time. In my early 20s, I was a big brother and it took less than a couple of months to connect with a little guy.

Because of my age, it took longer for them to find me a big brother. It seemed that most big brothers wanted younger kids to connect with. Maybe people thought that kids my age weren’t as cute as the younger ones or maybe they thought we might have more baggage to deal with. I was too young to bother analyzing the sociology of it all – plus I didn’t mind the wait.

The Coach House

During my waiting time I would meet weekly with a social worker at the Big Brother office. In the early 1970’s, the Big Brother office was located on Victoria Street, just south of Main. The main building was an old house, nicely carved out inside to a warm web of rooms converted to offices. Tucked in behind this old building was a small building called “The Coach House”.

This little building was easy to miss if you drove past the Big Brother main office. It was in the shadows of the bigger building and its outer decor made in blend in like a brick chameleon, but this room became so important to me that I always looked for it whenever I passed by – even years later.

The exterior bricks of the building were painted gray. It was a simple one-story building with no basement and only three rooms. Two rooms were off to the left and they were small – one being used as a tiny meeting room, the other a storage room. The main room took over 80% of the space in the building. There were a few seats against the walls of this room, but its main features were the pool table and the ping-pong table.

The Coach House was one of my favourite places to hang out. This was where Mr. Lowry and where we spent most of our time.

Meet Mr. Lowry

I am not really sure if he was a social worker, an intake worker or what his title was, but to me he was simply Mr. Lowry. It didn’t really matter to me what his title was (for this blog, I’ll just assume he was a social worker). What did matter was his impact on me.

I cannot recall what his first name was. I likely saw it on some name plate or piece of paper, but I never called him by his first name. He was always “Mr. Lowry” to me.

Mr. Lowry and I met at the Coach House on a weekly basis. We would battle it out over a game of pool or ping-pong and then spend some time just hanging out and chatting.

He Had a Plan

Little did I realize that Mr. Lowry was using this time to get to know me better. There was no Freudian analysis with me on a couch and him scribbling notes and saying “hmm, tell me more” as I rattled on about the goldfish I lost when I was 7. No, he was effectively sneakier than that.

He spent the time letting me be a boy and showing me he genuinely cared. Through games, laughter and warm smile, he quickly gained my trust.

He must have also recognized that I needed that time because we met for a lot longer time than necessary to get to know me. We met weekly for nearly a year without fail. It didn’t stop until I was eventually connected with a big brother.

The Impact

When a father leaves a family, it can create a hole inside the children left behind. When my stepfather left, that hole expanded. Owing to the physical abuse and emotional neglect, a hole had already started, but it grew when he left. The continued pattern of his fatherhood whenever he stopped by only served to turn that hole into a flaming cavity.

I spent years trying to douse the flames and fill the cavity, but occasionally someone would come along that was able to throw a cover over that hole. Often it was temporary, but it would provide a much needed period of respite from the internal storm.

Mr. Lowry gave me that period of respite. He was filling the father void within me, even if it was only for a brief time. Although I couldn’t label the feelings then, he made me feel like I mattered and that somebody cared. I loved every minute spent in that Coach House with Mr. Lowry. Without recognizing it then, I loved Mr. Lowry too.

Thank You

Eventually they found a big brother for me: Ken W. Soon after being introduced to Ken it was no longer necessary for me to meet at the Coach House. I never saw Mr. Lowry after that. I tried to track him down many years later to give him a simple message.

I discovered he passed away, so I will say my simple message now:

Dear Mr. Lowry,

You showed me that we should never under-estimate the enduring impact we may have on people.

You made a difference by giving me a time of rest from my inner fires. You helped me see that a father’s hands are better spent holding a boy’s heart. You also gave me a brief glimpse of hope.

Thank you, Mr. Lowry.

Love, Randy