A teacher's winter solace

~ Editor's note: The names of students in this story have been changed.

"5 + 5 = 11 Thank you for teaching us that Mr. Bandermann."

Jason Bandermann smiles when he sees the words scrawled along the whiteboard in his Central Junior High School classroom.

He erases the marker in much the same manner he has erased many of the unpleasant memories from his first semester of teaching.

One hundred and twenty-eight days into his career, Mr. Bandermann has mellowed.

He no longer yells at his students to be quiet. It doesn't work.

Instead, he calmly repeats a phrase he heard during his own days as a student at Woodland High School: "This does not require you to talk."

Sometimes it works, sometimes he wants to go back to yelling.

At least I haven't cried yet, he tells himself.

It's the day of winter finals, two days until school dismisses for a two-week Christmas break.

Some students are so nervous they can't speak. Some are exhausted from studying all night. A few don't realize there's a test scheduled.

Less than 24 hours ago, Mr. Bandermann had yet to write the final exams for his six classes of pre-algebra, intermediate and beginning math students.

Instead, he was struggling to review the semester's work with his third-hour intermediate students. It's difficult, Mr. Bandermann has learned, to be heard over the rhythmic tapping of pencils on textbooks, shoes on tiled floor, knuckles on desks and the swoosh of a deflating balloon.

Third hour is his musical class. There are often rap lyrics flowing from somebody's mouth in the back of the room. In this class, he's Mr. Bander-dude.

Mr. Bandermann spends at least 35-percent of every 42-minute class period trying to keep his students seated and out of trouble. Keeping them silent is next to impossible.

Lots of thoughts

Halfway through his first year as a teacher and just months away from getting married to 22-year-old fiancee Sarah Booth, Mr. Bandermann has a lot on his mind.

Districtwide budget cuts may mean his salary will be frozen next year. He'll likely lose part of the extra money he receives for coaching cross country and track at Central High School. Dental and life insurance may not be offered.

Around the lunch table in the junior high cafeteria, Mr. Bandermann listens to the worries veteran teachers express about the impending cuts.

In his classroom, students joke about the school not being able to afford basic supplies such as tape. Mr. Bandermann is sure that he and Booth will get by if he takes a pay cut next year, although it may mean eating a lot of macaroni and cheese.

He would gladly stick to a diet of noodles for the chance to change the lives of his students. What Mr. Bandermann doesn't realize is that he already has.

In the desk farthest away from the front of the room in his fourth-hour pre-algebra class sits Jamie. The 14-year-old is new to Cape Girardeau this year.

He transferred from a neighboring school district where he was failing math. From the moment Jamie stepped into Room 214 at Central Junior High, he felt welcome.

Something as simple as Mr. Bandermann asking how his day is going makes Jamie pay attention in class. Other teachers, Jamie says, don't ask how he's doing.

The boy who refused to do his homework in his old school is now on track to land an "A," and he credits his teacher for standing over his shoulder and forcing him to work in class.

Jamie may never say it to his face, but Mr. Bandermann is his favorite teacher.

After six hours of administering final exams, Mr. Bandermann doubts he is anyone's favorite teacher. Some of his students are going to be upset when they open their report cards.

He sits at his battered wooden desk, grading 3,250 problems. Some of the students have tried to spell out cutesy words using the letters from the multiple choice A, B and Cs when they don't know the correct answer.

He has made up his mind to offer a tutoring-type session one day a week after school, beginning after the Christmas break. Maybe someone will come.

Last Christmas break, Mr. Bandermann was still a cool college kid. In those days, he didn't think there was anything better than the monthlong respite from professors and term papers.

As a teacher, he'll only get a two-week break between semesters, but he's never anticipated free time so much.

He'll spend it with family and friends, and probably working in his second-story classroom as well. There he'll find the memories of his students high-fiving and hugging their goodbyes to him as they left for their own Christmas breaks.

Those are the memories he wouldn't erase for anything, the kind that would make daily macaroni meals just a little bit easier to swallow.

cclark@semissourian.com

335-6611, extension 128