Nine and a half years ago, a couple of us in the UCLA teacher credential program toyed with the idea of writing a journal of our year there. It was a wild year, filled with learning, teaching, hypocrisy, sex, drugs (mostly alcohol), rock’n’roll, and fun.
It would have made a great, fun read.
Looking back on those people, I wonder how many are still teaching. Of the four with whom I was close, one never started teaching, two found good jobs, and my closest buddy in that year, a twistedly witty and lascivious former sorority girl, was ready to go back to graduate school after a horrific first year (this partner in literary crime and I never got around to writing the damn thing, though we did get in other situations together [don’t worry, this was before even wife number one]).
For how many of them did the five-year rule apply?
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