Another success story
Success stories. We can’t have too many of those. This victory march ended recently at Jeffrey Cowan’s wedding, surrounded by people who had been through the good and the not-so-good. It was time to celebrate.
I grew up with his uncle and namesake, Jeffrey Cowan, a fine tennis player, great athlete, good guy.
His father, Brett, went to high school with my brothers at Highland. Same profile athletically. If it involved a ball, the Cowans could hit it, throw it or shoot it with unusual accuracy.
Jeffrey’s mother, Sue, has a brother, Rob, in our neighborhood and he and his wife, Sally, have been our friends forever as forever allows.
Jeffrey transferred to Franklin when he was in second grade. He wasn’t sure what he was getting into. New school, new teachers and new students. Who wouldn’t be uneasy.
He and Thomas, our youngest, became best friends. They would come home after school and do homework together. Eat homemade cookies and butterscotch brownies. Then they’d play until his mom, Sue, came by after work to pick him up.
Even then, he was a sweet kid. The only question with sweet kids, because most 8-year-olds are, is whether the sweetness stays or gets beaten or grown up out of them.
Jeffrey had some wild moments, nothing outside the lines, or too far outside, but when you’re a parent even being close to the lines can be terrifying.
He graduated from Cal State Bakersfield in 2015 with a degree in marketing and PR. He worked at Maxwell’s, Pizzaville, Dot x Ott and probably some others. His work ethic was never in question. Like most millennials, Jeffrey’s had more jobs in 10 years than his parents’ generation had in a lifetime.
However, he struggled. “This was his dark period,” his mother said. Jeffrey was trying to find where he fit into the world. Achieving some measure of balance, finding where you’re meant to be, isn’t automatic for anybody. It’s less surprising it doesn’t happen than when it does.
Growing up is like parenting. There are a thousand books on the subject but no one reads them and if you did, the advice might seem like a pair of hand-me-down shoes. Close but half a size off. A few years ago, Jeff chose sobriety.
No detox problem, no intervention, he just stopped because he knew it was time to stop.
When he stopped, it was as if the world was born again and so was he. The rain might as well have scrubbed the Bakersfield skies. The first rain that washes away the summer, fall and harvest dust.
Jeffrey got a job in sales support with Illume Ag, a local farming company specializing in table grapes.
He met Dallas five years ago. Sometimes a woman can straighten a man’s spine and make him reach for something different. Something better.
She came with two kids and since then they’ve had one of their own Jeffrey and Dallas became a family.
Recently, they made it official. A few Saturdays ago, they were married in the beautiful backyard at the Junior League downtown.
It was a perfect fall night. The late summer heat could have stayed in the 90s but it was in the 70s. It was either good planning or luck. Maybe some of each.
The vows were simple and Jeffrey cried through a lot of it. Nervous, yes but these seemed like tears of gratitude and appreciation for being there and being surrounded by family and friends who were applauding outwardly and, if they weren’t, cheering inwardly.
I told him I was proud of him. I might have said it twice but it was worth saying twice. If I had a chance, I’d say it again.
The sweetness is still there. The good heart. Neither has been beaten, bled or grown out of him. This counts as a hometown victory. Hard fought and worth the struggle.