First, cut your heart into 32 equal sized pieces. Keep nothing for yourself.

Pour your brain out into a mold which consists of all of the expectations of your family, your school, your society, the ghosts of those you respect, and a little of your own.

Iron out your stomach. And by this, I mean to line it with iron. It must be strong for what comes next.

Change your skin like a chameleon until you fit in with the students, and then change again for the parents, and once more for the administration. Try to remember to change back when you come home, but you’ll never quite be the same as before.

Take all the courage and hard work in your bones and sprinkle it out each day and each moment. Keep mixing it in; the children can never have enough.

It’s boiled of course. The slow sort of boil that bubbles only after a long time. Each pop and burst of the hot water must be watched carefully. Do not let it overflow. Let out the bulk of steam each summer, and slivers more during the Thanksgiving and winter breaks.

Repeat for 40 years.