'Cry Tests' & Journey to Peninsula School

In which I examine a piece of writing on how Josie got her dream job at Peninsula, thanks to the supportive community around her. This one is a little long, skip to the end for a chicken story and a recent photo of mom.

Dear Mom, 

Well, at the beginning of this year, I really thought you were going to die. And you are still going! 

But the fact that you sleep so much and can’t communicate in any coherent manner does make me question what it means to be alive, and what the body waits for to move on. It also has me thinking about tears and storytelling — and how you used to go to a bookstore, find the children’s book section, and read books until you found the one’s that made you cry. Not a challenging task for someone who cried at airport drop offs and emotional films, but this was how you determined if a book was any good. 

Last time I visited you, I didn’t cry. Though I guess that’s not completely fair to say. I did cry the day before, and the day after I got home. But I don’t think it means that it is a good story. I think it means I’m tired of crying and feeling sad, and I am ready for you to go, so that I can go to Japan. [I know, it's odd, but I’ve been planning a grief trip to Japan]. 

At this end of the year moment, I’ve been thinking a lot about time and what people hold on to, and what we let go of. Stuff?! Most of it is useless, though I am enjoying mending my old sweater and thankful I didn’t get rid of my sewing kit. I’ve also been thinking about the excuses we make for not doing things, because of fear. Because of attachments. It’s really only when we let go of one thing, that we can really explore the possibility of something new. Maybe it will be even better then we thought it would be.

You used to joke that you got your dream job at Peninsula at age 50. I always aspired to land my dream job sometime before that ripe age of 50. While it is possible that I have gotten that dream job, the reality stings with the disappointment of not being able to tell you all about it. 

At the beginning of December, I taught the last classes of my first semester in the UC Berkeley Department of Geography — “Writing the World” and “Storytelling in Place.” You and Jane would’ve loved it. You would have come to my office and taken embarrassing photos. Directly after my final class, I drove to an award ceremony in San Francisco where I won an award for my story on Niang and her family in northeast India (Spotify, Apple). I wore my purple suit coat in your honor.    

I cried on my way home and I remembered the Quan Yin saying that you wrote in a card for me: “Whenever you cry, remember Quan Yin, the Goddess of Compassion.. She takes your tears and turns them into holy water.. Then blesses you with them for being brave enough to feel the pain of life.. And reminds you to have the courage and strength to go forward.”

Also, speaking of Goddesses, I was asked to be Goddess Mother (instead of God Mother) to my dear friend’s babies. I will tell you more later. 

LOVE LOVE,

Your Darling Youngest Angel Daughter

Dreams and Realities: Journey to Peninsula

Founded by Josephine Duveneck in 1925, the six acre grounds of Peninsula School was imagined as a place where kids learned by doing. The Duveneck’s saw education as interlinked with social justice and supported the farmworkers movement. They also founded Hidden Villa — the first summer camp in California to enroll children from different racial and ethnic backgrounds. As the current school website states: “Their vision of equal opportunity and access for all was shaped by the practices and principles of non-violence and social justice.” 

At a 2022 Peninsula community event I was asked to speak about my connection to the school. To outsiders it is known for being a place where kids run barefoot, jump in the mud and go camping as a class — that same class of around 20 kids has likely been together from kindergarten to eighth grade. The school is known as a progressive school and a community oriented space with a deep appreciation for the arts. 

I attended Peninsula from Maida to Jerry’s (meaning, kindergarten to eighth grade), in peak progressive fashion, the school didn't use class grades but instead the first names of each teacher. Ever since Gail’s (aka 3rd grade) my mom taught in the first classroom on the right, as you entered the driveway. Josie’s classroom was a fixture for about 25 years. Longer than we ever lived in one place. At the event, I said I had probably spent more waking hours at Peninsula than any home I had ever lived. 

For our little family of three, Peninsula was not only a school, but a community. Complete with someone who would drop you off at home if someone forgot you (or at least wait with you until your mother came back). To this day, some of my nearest and dearest friends are those I met at Peninsula. When I stumbled on this piece of writing about how she applied for the Kindergarten job, I was struck by how much work she had to do to see herself as worthy and how a brief comment from Roger, who was then my sister's fourth grade teacher, inspired her to take the leap. In thinking back on who she was at 49, I had always imagined her as more confident in her abilities. 

Here are her reflections from this time.

Josie’s Journey to Peninsula: In Her Own Words

*Note: There is no date on these writings, but I imagine she wrote these reflections shortly after she got her dream job (1992).

One day in November, 1992 Roger, Gayatri’s 4th grade teacher came over to the van on my way out of Peninsula and said, “Maida’s probably retiring this year, you’d be good for the job and good on staff.”

That was the beginning of a dream to teach kindergarten at Peninsula.

I said, “How do I do that? … Where do I start?”

“I can’t help you with that, I just know you would be the best for the job,” Roger said.

Three months later, in February, the Peninsula Hot News announced Maida’s retirement. I began to hear about people who wanted to apply for the job… I got scared and intimidated, I didn’t want anyone to know I was even thinking about applying. The idea of competition terrified me. 

Care, Theresa and I attended Cherie’s 5-day workshop. One thing I worked on was competition. She had me go back to my sisters and growing up. My father went to great lengths to keep everything between us three girls fair and equal. We dressed alike all the time until I was 15. She had me think of Izzy and get angry at her for all the things I didn’t like. It was excruciating and very difficult — I really went numb before I ever got anything out. After this workshop it was my work to say to people: “I want to apply for the kindergarten position.”

The personnel committee took a month to decide on the procedure for applying for the job. I practiced for a while saying to various people: “I want to apply for the kindergarten job.” During this time I went to see Carol, the director and expressed my feelings about wanting to apply for the job and as a single mother I was unable to be an assistant for all these years. I’m a teacher of the early childhood years and I have served Peninsula in other ways, I told her. During this time I was determined to say to Marion, (Gayatri and Lakshmi’s first grade teacher and Maida’s best friend) that I wanted to apply for the job. I was so scared, I remember Cheri saying, “Can you feel scared and still move ahead?” 

When I finally found my way to her classroom, she gave me the usual warm and welcoming greeting with hugs and appreciation. We talked briefly and I found my courage to say I want to apply for the kindergarten job.

Marion’s whole energy and manner changed. She said sharply, “you and a whole list of people.” I felt crushed, but managed a friendly good-bye.

I got in my van and tears were in my eyes. Why did I think I could apply for this position? That was an important person to get support from. I sat in silence and then repeated several times. “I want to apply for the kindergarten job… I want to apply for the kindergarten job… I realized in the expression of “I want” I’m taking a stand for myself. I cannot always be met with enthusiasm and support. There will be anger, disappointment, jealousy, indifference, etc. My inner roots grew a little deeper that day.

At the end of March the application was open. We were leaving for Seattle to visit Care the day after it was announced, so I took an application with me. 

They were due on Monday April 18, Aunie’s birthday (my great-aunt-Ruth, who my mother referred to as ‘Aunie’). In Seattle I read over the application and felt completely overwhelmed. I could hardly get past the part that said: “list your areas of expertise” let alone the five essay questions at the end. I didn’t feel qualified. I thought of some of the people applying and how well they work in the classroom. Cherie would say ‘I judged myself inadequate for the job, and the judge got in the way of moving forward with what I wanted.’ I folded up the application and put it away.

I returned home after spring vacation and felt the pressure of the application that was due in a week. We had a small gathering planned at Lila’s for my 49th birthday. After dinner we burned some sage and chose angel cards. Then I asked the women there to give me some feedback on why they wanted their kids to be with me — what was it about me that they trusted or appreciated in working with their children? I was hoping to be able to understand more of myself as a teacher and through these comments understand what makes me unique and appreciated as a teacher. I kept fighting the untruth of not having expertise. Listening with all my heart and mind to discover a new way to look at myself, so I could discover my ‘expertise’ and be able to fill out the application.

I felt like I was meeting someone new. She seemed familiar and I wanted to know more and more about her. I didn’t realize that some of the ways I am with children, which come naturally to me, are actually qualities.

In the next few days I gathered more information. I spoke to a friend who said that when he first brought his son into the pre-school where I was teaching, he walked into the door and heard me say, “hey, that’s enough now.” He said the kids responded and still looked happy and he knew that there would be boundaries. 

After my birthday, I worked on the easiest part of the application — a collage of children that I had worked with in the last year. I didn’t realize that some of the pictures were in Maida’s room, where I taught a class called “Summer Fun and Games” I called Wendolyn to come over and see it. She liked it very much, the composition, the colors, and the pictures I chose. 

“Where are YOU?” she asked me. “Where are you in this collage… you need to be somewhere.” I said I didn’t have any pictures of myself and I really wouldn’t fit anywhere. Wendolyn insisted that I be in the collage. I said maybe I could find a couple pictures of me and I would see. 

I found one of me drumming at Portola State Park. I placed it in the center of the collage with a narrow blue ring around the picture… intending to write something simple. But it didn’t need words. More than one person said it looked as though I was creating ‘the rhythm’... the ‘heartbeat’ of the activity and energy around me. It’s what I felt, but could not articulate when I chose that particular picture. 

Saturday afternoon I shut myself in my room to write my application. When Gayatri answered the phone she said, “My mom can’t come to the phone right now, she’s applicating!”

But, really I was struggling with the essay questions. I felt it was important to write about personal experiences rather than philosophy. And I wanted the personal experiences to reflect the way that I teach, and who I am in the classroom. 

Saturday evening I met with Jane, my dear friend of many, many years. She knows me well and I knew she would be able to help me figure out how to say what I wanted to say… We talked back and forth a while and rambled a bit, which I think is often necessary to find clarity. Then Jane simply said that this conversation reminded her of when I was struggling to write my master’s and she suggested that I use my own thesis as a reference.

I went home to try it out. I finished a rough draft of all the essay questions just from quoting my own writing! Sunday morning I met with another friend to go over my rough draft. He is very good with wording and expressions. He’s also very clear about his ideas which helped me clarify what to say. 

-Story of the Chicken-

I brought a chicken into my student teaching classroom in Mansfield, Mass. It was a colorful feathered Rhode Island red live chicken, from the small farm that the Sycamore family had in part of their yard.  

We, the kids and I, made a circle around the chicken. We observed it, drew pictures, wrote and dictated stories, asked questions, talked about care and needs. When I finished the lesson, the main teacher said: “That was fun, but tomorrow we have to get back to work.” In my application I told this story and said, “I want to teach at a school where the chicken is the work!”

In 1993, her friend Kathleen wrote a recommendation for her. “She is quite simply the most honest, thoughtful, and creative teacher we have ever met,” Kathleen wrote. She then shared a story about visiting Heffalump, the pre-school my mother taught in. 

It was Mother’s Day and when I arrived at Heffalump, it was snack time and Josie was talking to the kids about Mother’s Day. She first asked the children what they thought Mother’s Day was about. There were many answers, most were standard “thanking mom” kind of answers. She then asked them what a mother was, and again received pretty typical responses. Josie suggested that there were other ways to think about and celebrate mothers. She reminded the kids of one child present who did not have a mother and explained to them that the little girl’s father did most of her mothering. She went on to point out another child whose mother was quite ill and required complete bed rest, but mothered her son from her bedside and relied on her husband and friends for help. She talked for a few more minutes about the different forms mothering might take but from there the kids took over. One child volunteered that her mom worked a lot but still was her mom and took care of her. They mentioned moms’ responsibilities around the home and other kids shouted back that it didn’t have to be a mom’s job. The kids seemed alive with the possibilities of motherhood and they questioned traditional roles and ideas about mothering. That was the first of many times I would have the sincere pleasure of watching Josie raise the collective conscience of a group of youngsters.

When I emailed Kathleen in 2022 to ask about this time, she said she remembered it like it was yesterday. “This was the year that your mom was doing in-apartment (or I should say: on-the-road) Pegasus. Friends who loved Josie and thought she was an amazing teacher, supported her in her own preschool venture." Josie called us all together that winter to tell us about the potential new job and we all encouraged her to apply. "She always knew intuitively what was the right tact to take with children and adults, but she had a hard time articulating it."

"The picture of your mom drumming, which is in the center of her collage, was from an amazing field trip day. We went to Portola state park. It was raining nonstop. That’s why she’s wet in the photo. And we couldn’t get across a footbridge, so I crawled across a fallen log that was spanning the creek. The kids each climbed on my back. I would never do that today! And we got to a little place in the forest and we made a tiny sizzling fire and all the kids drummed and danced and it was wonderful. On the way back she made me stop so the kids could watch a vulture eating roadkill." 

Josie’s Journey to Peninsula: In Her Own Words 

On May 24, 1993 (my mother, Dorothy Warschofsky’s birthday) the interviews for the kindergarten position were held before a committee of 13 — each asking one question. My greatest fear was forgetting what I know. Care gave me an image to think about: myself as the high priestess of education. Lori told me to go through the tunnel of fear and out the other side. 

Susan Brady had helped me interview around her big dining room table — I practiced answering questions with her. 

Gayatri and Lakshmi helped with an interview outfit — a black velvet jacket, on one lapel was a copper-enamel heart pin, “speak from your heart,” Gayatri said. On the other lapel was a copper-enamel tree pin from Lakshmi, “stay grounded,” she said.

A day later, the director of Peninsula, Carol Young-Holt called and offered me the job. I was overwhelmed. “When I’m able to speak, I’d like to accept,” I said.

Dear Mom, 

What I appreciate about this anecdote is that you had so many people cheering you on and supporting you throughout the process. It seems silly to ask you now, but what on earth were you so insecure about applying for the job? What was it that you felt you wouldn’t or couldn’t do? 

I see some of my own insecurities in you when I'm fearful of apply for jobs or uncomfortable being truly seen by those around me and when I feel afraid to do something. Those are the times I find support in my extended community.

Happy New Year —  may we move through the tunnel of fear to find everything on the other side.

XO L

This post is part of a series of essays called Josie's House. This is part of a larger work-in-progress-project I envision as a book. Previous essays can be found below.

1. New Beginning: In which I try to figure out how to tell people that the doctor at my mother's assisted living facility referred her to hospice care — meaning that based on her weight loss and decline, she is expected to be gone within six months.
2. Mom Rocks: In which I attempt to introduce my mother and this project.
3. 'Are You My Sister?': In which my Josie-mama thinks I am her sister and I find a letter my mother wrote to her sister after she died in my mother's arms.
4. Mandala's Tiles and Poetry: In which I go looking for tiles in India and re-discover my mother's love of mandalas and some poetry-letters she wrote after my grandmother died. 
5. A Purple-Infused 80th Birthday: In which I marvel at the passage of time, birthdays, and garden metaphors.
6. Wearing Pantsuits to Church: Values Search: In which I look at my mother's values alongside my own.
7. A Dream Realized: Journey to India, 1979: In which I share a draft of an essay about my mother's first trip to India, and the next trip when she met my father.