When I was 12 years old in 1972 my Uncle Cal was driving my cousin and myself in Downtown Galt. As we drove by the old YMCA at 25 Queen's Square he stopped and told us to stay in the truck while he donated blood. He returned to the truck sad as he was not able to donate due to some issue. The look of sadness stuck with me all my life. That is why I donate, because it meant so much to him.
