Closing the gradebook
Teaching English was the best job he’d never planned on, and a nudge from his dad helped get him there.
On April 25, weather permitting, I will be giving my last Siena final, and then I will climb on my bicycle and cycle home the 20-25 miles to Burnt Hills.
I did the same thing back in 2019 on the last day of my 32-year teaching career in the Bethlehem Central School District. That bike ride took me past my childhood home in Albany and eventually on to Latham, where my family and I moved when I was five years old.
The ride allowed me time to reflect on my years as a teacher. Biking through Albany and Latham also brought back memories of my childhood, the times I fished in the Mohawk River and our family visits to Lock 7 on warm summer evenings.
When I retired in 2019, I still felt a drive to teach a bit more. I just didn’t want the five classes, three preps and over 120 students I normally had at Bethlehem. I applied as an adjunct and was offered a position at Siena College, the school my dad wanted me to attend.
As an 18-year-old, I had lived my entire life in the Capital Region, so I wanted to go to New York or Boston, and I did eventually go to Manhattan College in the Bronx. At Thanksgiving break of my freshman year, my dad wanted to hear all about how school was going, what my classes were like and how I was getting along with my roommates.
“You’re very lucky to be the first in our family to go to college,” he said. “I always wanted to go to Siena College.” He then told me about a time when he was 20 years old, already married and working a dull job to try and make some money to attend night classes at Russell Sage College. “It was an April afternoon,” he said, “and I drove to Siena and walked around the campus. I walked through the buildings, looked in some classrooms and thought how great it would have been to be a student there.”
As a high school senior I decided to major in English. My dad encouraged me to get a business degree.
He had worked for years at the Department of Tax and Finance, but he never once spoke about what he did. What we talked about at our dinner table were the books we were reading and the movies we watched.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea to just major in English,” said my dad.
“I guess I could be an English education major,” I told him. He thought that was a much more practical idea.
Even in my senior year in college, after completing my student teaching, I still didn’t really want to be a teacher. My plan was to join the Peace Corps, live in some thirdworld country, have adventures and then come home and write a best-selling novel.
I had an interview with the Peace Corps but was not accepted. I was not fluent in any other languages and other than being able to write and run pretty fast, I had no relevant skills.
It was around that time I was contacted by an English teacher at my old high school who told me that he was leaving and that I should apply. He was also the coach of the cross-country, indoor track and outdoor track teams. The coaching sounded like fun, so I applied for the job. And in April of my senior year I had my first teaching job.
For the past 44 years, I’ve grown to have such passion for teaching and literature that every morning I woke up excited to get to school and see my students and co-workers. It has been such a joy.
As I bike home on April 25, my mom and my dad will be with me in spirit. They worked hard to make sure I would be able to attend college. On the ride home, all those thousands of students I’ve had the pleasure to teach will also be with me; so will the hundreds of teachers I’ve worked with. I leave with no regrets, only happy expectations for the adventures on the road that lies ahead.