Mr. Lowry

Blake Kyriss is a loner, a stocky middle school boy who struggles in school and speaks with a lisp.

I can see misery all over his small face and am not surprised that he is absent from school regularly. Little wonder for a kid who hides out by himself and begs to walk the halls unseen. He prefers never to be singled out for attention, and all of us worry and wonder how this shy, lost boy will ever graduate. We underestimate, however, the powers of Mr. James Lowry.

James Lowry, GICC 

The first day Blake walks into James Lowry's ninth grade geography class will change his life forever.

"You!" Mr. Lowry shouts.

Blake looks up, frightened. "Me?"

"Yeah, you!" Under fierce eyebrows, Lowry glares across the room. "Have you talked to a single person today?"

Blake glances around to make sure he is, in fact, the recipient of this outrage.  "Uh, no, Sir, " he mumbles painfully.

Lowry shakes his head in mock disgust. "That's what I thought."

Every day after that it's the same. Lowry incessantly badgers the poor kid all the while peppering him with questions. Where does Blake live? Why isn't he out for sports? What does he like to do?

Hour by day by week, Blake volunteers information. His grandparents are raising him. Because his grandpa is sick, Blake helps on the farm. He likes to bake. And, no, he doesn't like sports.

To Blake's dismay, he discovers he can no longer be invisible. Mr. Lowry has overpowered him with a mega-watt spotlight, and before he knows what's happened to him, Blake Kyriss is a celebrity. Kids laugh at his one-liners. He goes out for wrestling and forms strong friendships with Toad, the big lovable coach, and his teammates. He makes his famous apple pies for Mr. Lowry's food days. And one monumental day, he sings.

"Let's hear it!" Lowry commands. Blake obediently turns on his phone for musical accompaniment and belts out "Do You Want To Be A Snowman?"

His classmates collapse into laughter, and he at last sits among them flushed and triumphant. Blake Kyriss, for the first time in his life, belongs. He will graduate, go on to college, and always be thankful for the loud, dominant social studies teacher who refused to allow him to fade away.

It's not an uncommon story. Not for James Lowry anyway. Every day he's dragging kids out of their shells, making them step out of their comfort zones.

There's the boy, awkward and afraid, who plays basketball for Lowry's seventh grade basketball team. Coach Lowry hounds the poor kid and convinces him to forget about everything but having fun.

"Shoot the dang ball!" Lowry bawls, and one magnificent day, the boy scores for the very first time in his life.

"Time out!" Lowry calls to the ref, just so that the entire team can high five and jump all over one small boy who's scored his first basket.

There's the lonely kid who hangs out with Mr. Lowry every day after school until his ride arrives at 5, talking and feeling better about himself.

Or the little girl who claims her "Lowry Time" before school and glares at any other student who infringes on her morning appointment.

There's the little placque on Lowry's desk - "World's Greatest Teacher - because Super Hero isn't an official job title" - presented to him by one adoring middle school student.

James Lowry is well known for being one of the best tennis coaches in the state. His varsity boys and girls have excelled in the sport and are deeply influenced by Coach Lowry's never-say-die work ethic and strategy. Lowry himself is a graduate of Hastings College where he played basketball and tennis. He was not, however, a privileged kid who was groomed to play college sports.

"I was always a little heavy, and none of my older brothers played sports when I grew up in Columbus," he says. It was the neighborhood kids, all high school athletes, who took James under their wing and allowed him to hang out. "I was the extra pitcher - the little kid who didn't belong. But those guys always included me when they didn't have to, and that meant something to me."

He remembers getting hit in the face with a baseball but scrambling back up to play. The responsibility to uphold the neighborhood name was important. Those kind boys propelled James into school sports and always encouraged and advised him.

Mr. Lowry, middle, and his sixth grade math students.

Today James Lowry is married to his beautiful Kristy and raises his three kids - Laura, Jenna and Marcus - with the same intensity, love, and expectations he has for his students. But he's never forgotten the neighborhood boys in Columbus who included him and made him feel good about himself. It's a lesson he's taken to heart as an educator.

"You just wanna see kids happy," he says. "When they hold up their heads, talk to people and have a good time," he shakes his head, "that's all you want."

I am walking back to class after lunch. Lowry is in the hallway yakking and teasing kids. Their faces light up, and when they are all herded into his room, James nods at me. "Watch this."

From the hallway, he shouts into the classroom full of sixth graders, "I don't wanna grow up!"

In practiced unison, they sing back, "I'M A TOYS-4-US KID!"

Every one of them is beaming. Everyone is happy. Everyone belongs.

And that's all Mr. Lowry wants.