Page 9 of More Than a Hero
After finishing her deliveries, she returned to the office just long enough to grab the keys to one of the ESAAA vans. With the help of Carina, a nursing assistant, she made the rounds to pick up five seniors, each eager for their outing to the YMCA. Some used canes, others walkers, but all shared the same excitement.
At the YMCA, she guided them inside, ensuring everyone was signed in before a cheerful volunteer led them to the class space. The room was bright and welcoming, filled with seniors settling into chairs for a yoga session. Angie helped her group find their spots before sinking into a chair herself.
“Oh, are you joining us?” Rosetta, a bespectacled woman with a sharp wit, asked with a teasing smile.
Angie nodded. “I figure I could use some joint loosening myself.”
George, seated beside Rosetta, chuckled. “I was never into exercise when I was younger. Now I look back and wonder why on earth I didn’t take better care of myself.”
“I remind myself of that every day,” Angie replied, stretching her arms.
The session flew by, and by the end of it, Angie’s muscles were pleasantly warm. She helped the seniors gather their things, watching as they laughed and chatted on their way to retrieve their walkers and canes. There was no rush—she enjoyed these moments of connection. But as she lingered, something unexpected happened.
Her mind wandered, and Pete’s name drifted into her thoughts. It wasn’t the first time that had happened lately. And that thought, more than anything, left a quiet ache she wasn’t sure what to do with.
5
Pete stepped into the Baytown YMCA, the familiar scent of rubber mats, sweat, and faintly lingering chlorine from the pool wrapping around him. The large facility buzzed with energy—basketballs thudding against the polished hardwood in the gym, sneakers squeaking against the floors, and the low hum of conversation from various members weaving through the air.
Just inside the lobby, a group of his boys hovered near the front desk, their energy barely contained as they shifted restlessly, checking their phones or bouncing on the balls of their feet.
"Sorry I'm a little late, guys," Pete called, lifting a hand in greeting as he strode toward them. He threw a nod to the man behind the registration desk before scanning his group, doing a quick headcount. One of the boys’ moms worked for the county, driving one of the buses. She would drop the boys off and then, along with a friend, Richard, they would get them back to their apartment building at the end of their time.
"Everyone's here except Mike," Jalen reported, his voice carrying over the din. "He came with us but went to the bathroom?—"
"I'm here!" came a hurried voice. Mike jogged up, slightly out of breath, his sneakers skidding a bit on the tiled floor as he rejoined the group. At eleven, he and Darius were the youngest of the bunch, just barely making the age cutoff for Pete’s mentorship program.
Pete grinned. "Alright, guys… remember what we talked about last week?"
Caleb, one of the older boys at thirteen, straightened slightly. "Treat the equipment and the other people using the space with respect."
Pete nodded approvingly. "That’s right. We’re here to work, talk, and enjoy our time together. What we’re not here to do is be a distraction or make the staff or members feel like they have to manage us. Everyone in this building has paid for their membership, and they deserve to use the facilities without dealing with nonsense. Understood?"
A chorus of nods and murmured agreements followed, just as Richard jogged into the lobby, his face lined with urgency. "Sorry, sorry! One of the teachers couldn’t get her car to start, so I had to jump her."
A couple of the boys snickered, and Pete immediately caught the glint of mischief in their expressions. He exhaled, lifting his brows.
"Boys, cut it out. We may be near a locker room, but we’re not going to entertain locker room mentality."
That was all it took. Their smirks faded, and their postures adjusted slightly, shoulders squaring as they redirected their focus. Pete had worked hard to build a sense of discipline and respect in these young men—something too many of them weren’t naturally given in their daily environments.
With that, they moved into the main gym area, where the scent of perspiration mixed with the steady hum of treadmills and clanking machines. Pete had found that starting withphysical activity worked best. Some of these boys struggled in school, and their bodies brimmed with restless energy after sitting in classrooms all day. Giving them a chance to move, exert themselves, and work through some of that tension helped them focus later when they sat down for homework.
By now, they knew the routine. They spread out, instinctively scanning for available equipment rather than monopolizing one area. Pete had drilled into them the importance of gym etiquette—waiting their turn, using the machines properly, wiping them down after use, and not crowding out the paying members.
While Richard took a few of the boys to the side for a body-weight circuit, Pete observed as several others moved toward the free weights. He stepped in to spot where needed, ensuring their forms were correct. These kids ranged in age from eleven to thirteen, and many had never been in a structured fitness environment before Pete started working with them six months ago.
It had all started with Rasheem. Nearly a year ago, Pete had arrested a gang member who had begun running drugs. On the fringes of that world was an eleven-year-old boy just hanging around. Rasheem wasn’t in yet, but Pete knew the signs, and without intervention, it was only a matter of time before he got pulled into something he couldn’t get out of.
Pete had visited Rasheem, spoken to his mother, and found her more than willing for someone to take an interest in her son. That had been the beginning. As Pete spent more time with Rasheem, he realized there had to be more boys like him—kids who needed guidance and someone to show them another path.
Richard Pendleton had been an easy recruit for another male role model. Pete had met him at an American Legion meeting and, upon learning he was a middle school teacher, floated the idea of starting a mentorship program. Richard jumped at it.
"I know I have a huge influence over my students," Richard once told him. "But with twenty-five kids in each class, six periods a day, there’s only so much of me to go around."
Together, they’d worked with the middle school’s counselor to identify kids who would thrive in the program. Pete had met with each of them and their parents or guardians, ensuring everyone was on board. Once a week, the bus dropped them off at the YMCA, where Pete and Richard met with them. The first half hour was all movement—lifting weights, running if the weather was nice, or shooting hoops on the outdoor court. They headed to the locker room for quick showers. Pete and Richard monitored the time, also ensuring the boys knew about personal hygiene.
Then came academics, where they reviewed homework. The third part of their time together was spent in conversation—about life, about dreams, about anything the boys wanted to bring up. They asked about Richard’s time in the military, about Pete’s work on the Drug Task Force, about what it meant to be a man who made a difference.
