Nervous Beginnings

It was September of 1972. I had plenty to be nervous about.

The Vietnam War was still raging and my draft number, 92, had been reached while I had my college deferment. Now, I was out of college and waiting to be called down to Varig Street for my physical. In the meanwhile, I had gotten a part-time job teaching two classes at Cathedral Preparatory Seminary on West End Avenue. I was taking the place of a priest on sabbatical, teaching a freshman English class and a senior short story class. I had been hired by my former English teacher, Fr. Valastro, who was now the principal of the Prep. I would be pulling in a whopping $5000 for my 10 months of work plus $300 as assistant track coach. Even in those days, this was not a living wage. I was engaged to the love of my life, Chris, but with Vietnam hanging over our heads, we had no idea when or if we would be married. I had applied for alternate service as a conscientious objector, but had little hope. I was determined to do whatever I needed short of leaving the country to get through life without killing anyone, even if it might mean prison. Yes, there was plenty to be nervous about!

But my most immediate terror was connected to first day activities at the Prep. Long time tradition had all of the parents and students of the school gathering together in the auditorium to hear from each teacher on the curriculum highlights planned for each class. Teachers of the freshman class went first, in alphabetical order. I was to be the first speaker after Valastro's opening remarks. I was praying for a heart attack.

"And now, we will hear from our exceptional faculty. Mr. Bellacero...?"

I was standing. I had moved to the podium. The paper in my hand rattled with my tremors. I placed it on the podium, gripped the wood and looked out at the expectant faces. My mouth opened, then closed. I forced it back open. (Say your name!) "Hi, uh, hello, uh, I am Jo... uh, Mr. Bellacero. I will be teaching a freshman class and, uh, a senior class. We will be, uh...uh...uh.... (Say something, say anything! You can't just stand here staring at them!)...This is my first year teaching. I assure you, I will be much better with your kids." I was leaving the podium. I was fleeing the stage. I was hiding in a stall in the teacher's bathroom.

It is now 2017. I never went to Vietnam or prison. I've never killed anyone. I married my high school sweetheart. I got a steady job for the NYCBOE and spent 34 years teaching in the City. I joined the New York City Writing Project and have worked for them for 31 years. I spent 38 summers working at Camp Oakhurst, with the New York Service for the Handicapped. I have taught at least one class (secondary, undergraduate and/or graduate) every year since my inauspicious beginning at Cathedral Prep. All of which has given me a seemingly endless stream of beginnings. And before every single one of them -- every camp opening day, every first class, every first day consulting, every workshop, every conference presentation, every first meeting with a principal, every first time in another teacher's classroom, every student teacher observation, every new beginning -- my hands have been shaking, my stomach has been fluttering, and I have considered the deus ex machina of a sudden heart attack.

Maybe that's a good thing. Maybe the nervousness makes me a better teacher, more determined to do it better this time than I did the last. Maybe if the time comes that I am not nervous, it will be a clear sign that it is time to leave the profession at last. If so, then that day has not come yet. On January 25th when I walk into room 132 of the Old Main building at SUNY New Paltz, to greet my Methods of Teaching English students, I will, despite the outward calm I have learned to project, be a wreck.

The one important and counter-intuitive connection between Joe Bellacero of September 1972 and Professor Bellacero of January 2017, is that I am really looking forward to it.