For 13 years, I was a public school teacher. It was my fifth career, actually.

First, I was a secretary for a major oil company. Then I was a stay-at-home mom. Then I became a writer and reporter for this newspaper.

My fourth career was as a teacher. Now I’m a retiree, trying to find my way through occasional boredom, wonderful hours babysitting grandchildren and doing some part-time work, both in the school system and writing this column.

But as the school year ends for most of our kids, I found myself going down memory lane. I remembered those last days, especially as I’ve been in a couple of schools recently.

The kids are ready to start their summer, and teachers are anxious for them to go so they, too, can begin relaxing and get away from demanding lesson plans, discipline and being on stage for almost eight hours a day.

As many staff developments that teachers attend, nobody prepares an educator for that last week. They know they’re supposed to pack up books, give back all papers, take down posters and lock up supplies.

We read so much about kids who don’t want to learn, overzealous parents, and dangerous situations at schools. The pay’s not great, the work is overwhelming, a teacher’s heart breaks every time there’s a shooter drill, and the morale among the staff can be lower than low.

While all that is true, there’s a few things a teacher often doesn’t realize until the year’s over.

When the last batch of kids leave the building, the faculty luncheon is over and everyone’s waiting for the “all-clear” call on the intercom that teachers can leave, educators realize one thing – it’s too quiet.

Halls and schools aren’t meant to be empty and quiet. They’re meant to be full of laughter, learning, and sneakered feet tapping their way down the hall, teachers reminding them to stay in the line.

During the year, bells ring, doors slam and lock and announcements over the loudspeaker interrupt instructional time on a regular basis. There’s the phone calls and emails from frustrated parents, emails from administrators wanting lesson plans, forms filled out and, quite frankly, mind-numbing data they want collected.

Educators didn’t get into this profession for that.

Teachers want to be the ones imparting information to their students. They’re supposed to teach them how to spell words and write essays. They’re supposed to teach them multiplication, division, addition and subtraction. And let’s not forget the names of the 50 states, their capitols and the life cycle of a butterfly.

That’s the requirements of the job, but teachers often overlook what students taught them.

They taught patience. Picture that student in the class who asked endless questions, despite having the instructions on the board and repeating them endlessly in class.

Not all of us absorb information the same way. Teachers need to thank that young person for teaching them that learning doesn’t arrive in a tidy, square box.

They reminded their teachers to laugh. Sometimes, the best attitude a teacher can possess is the ability to laugh.

Teachers need to remember the class where they made a mistake and then laughed it off. The thing is, kids laugh with you, not at you.

They teach that it’s okay to be human, okay to laugh instead of cry and to let them see teachers can have a great sense of humor.

They taught acceptance. That student a teacher thought was beyond redemption turned in a fabulous paper. The kid who almost dropped the camera a dozen times caught some of the best photos in the class. The child with the IEP paperwork turns out to be the most dedicated kid in the room.

All teachers make mistakes.

The kids overlooked them.

Teachers will lose their temper.

The kids showed forgiveness.

Students teach the intangibles. They tested the teacher every single day, and that, in turn, taught teachers that it’s okay to be frustrated with a job but still love what you’re doing. Nobody tells teachers how much they will love those children. They get into your heart and stay there forever.

Those halls will be filled in a few weeks. And that’s how every school building should be – noisy and brimming with possibilities. Without the kids, a school is just a building.

Have a great summer, educators, you’ve earned it.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.