My Shoes and I: Crossing Three Borders / Mis Zapatos y Yo: Cruzando Tres Fronteras

author: René Colato Laínez 

translator: René Colato Laínez

illustrator: Fabricio Vanden Broeck

Piñata Books / Arte Público Press, 2010, 2019 

kindergarten-grade 3 

Salvadoran 

My Shoes and I: Crossing Three Frontiers / Mis Zapatos y Yo: Cruzando Tres Fronteras was originally published in English by Boyds Mills Press in 2010. With English text modified and simplified, and Spanish added for this edition, the story is based on Colato Laínez’ own arduous 1,000-mile journey, traveling with his father from El Salvador through Guatemala and Mexico to the US. Together, the boy and his father walk across valleys, climb up mountains, take a two-day bus ride to Mexico City; sleep in an old, dark trailer for a few days—and, finally, swim across the Rio Grande and walk to the border—to reunite with Mamá, who is waiting for them on the other side.

In Colato Laínez’s gentle, reassuring story for the youngest readers, a pair of new shoes that Mamá had sent young René remains the literal and visual focus of the journey. The shoes are symbolic of the long, dangerous struggles without actually telling or showing any real danger. As René’s shoes, depicted on just about every page, travel with child and father, they deteriorate: they become scuffed and dirty, they develop holes, they overflow with mud, they fill with pebbles, they get soaked in the river. But throughout, the shoes are with him: “Uno, dos, tres…” they still walk everywhere he walks. And finally, father and son “cross the finish line, together.” 

In contrast to the author’s actual situation, the family here are immigrants rather than refugees. This is an important distinction. In the 1980s, thousands of Salvadorans fled here to escape the 12 years of violence in which right-wing government forces, supported by the US, murdered more than 75,000 civilians.

Although times were dangerous then and they remain so today, both story and illustrations erase the horrors and the historical differences between the author’s experiences in the 1980s and those of Central American refugees today. For instance, refugees from Central America are desperately fleeing organized gang violence; whole families often travel in caravans for safety. And, of course, the political climate on the US side is terrifying as well. 

But in father and son’s travel from El Salvador all the way to the US, there’s no political content then or now; neither running from war nor running from gangs. Except for some difficulty—inclement weather, dogs’ stealing their lunch, Papá losing his wallet and the two having to stay in an old dark trailer for several days —there’s just “uno, dos, tres,” counting the steps and finally “crossing the finish line.” 

(In his author’s note, Colato Laínez writes that, after his father lost his wallet, an old trailer in Mexico City became their home for two months, while his father had to find work to “get money for us to eat” and his mother saved more money for their trip. This is a common situation among people who are crossing, and would have been an important part of the story.) 

Vanden Broeck’s bright, heavily saturated paintings on weathered wood-grain backgrounds center the shoes from varying angles. In some scenes, the illustrations belie the text. In the next-to-last spread, for example, René’s shoes are in the water, and he is looking directly at both of them. But the text reads, “I see a shoelace. I grab it. A shoe comes out of the water. I don’t see the other one. I come out of the water. Papá and I look around. Trapped in some branches is my other shoe.” And in the last spread, René and Papá reunite with Mamá at the shore—and they appear completely clean and dry.

It’s possible that whatever text was revised in this newer version of the story did not follow the art, or vice versa. 

As a story of an immigrant or refugee family reuniting in the US, the story leaves a lot of questions: If Papá and young René are undocumented (as he writes in his author’s note), how is it they are traveling alone? If they are documented, why are they mostly on foot rather than taking available transportation? What’s the status of Mamá, who is already on the other side? 

My Shoes and I: Crossing Three Borders / Mis Zapatos y Yo: Cruzando Tres Fronteras oversimplifies the horrors that refugees from Central America face as they pass from El Salvador all the way to the US. It’s a pretty safe book for younger readers who don’t have the family experience of being refugees and, as such, it’s recommended. If used in the classroom or library, I’d strongly recommend My Shoes and I: Crossing Three Borders / Mis Zapatos y Yo: Cruzando Tres Fronteras be read in conjunction with Jairo Buitrago’s and Rafael Yockteng’s excellent Dos Conejos Blancos // Two White Rabbits (Groundwood, 2016).

—Beverly Slapin

(published 2/24/19)

Mamá the Alien / Mamá la extraterrestre

author: René Colato Laínez 
translator: René Colato Laínez 
illustrator: Laura Lacámara 
Children’s Book Press / Lee & Low 
2016 
kindergarten-grade 3 
Salvadoran, Salvadoran American

In Mamá the Alien / Mamá la extraterrestre, young Sofía accidentally knocks over her mama’s purse, spilling out its contents. When a resident alien card drops out, the child discovers (she thinks) that mom must be an alien from outer space. Since her parents’ explanation doesn’t yield any usable information, the child does the research and the math and puts the puzzle together:

Mamá was an alien. Papá didn’t have a card, so he was not an alien. That meant I was half alien. I looked like a human girl, so my alien parts were hidden. But I needed to find out which half of me was hidden. Could I be alien from my head to my belly button? Or from my belly button to my feet? Could I be alien only on my right side or only on my left side?

It’s only after 23 pages that Sofía discovers the term “alien” has more than one meaning (“alguien de otro planeta o alguien de otro país”) and becoming a US citizen is easy and equally attainable by all. And that’s this story’s fatal flaw. While Colato Laínez’s writing is humorous and endearing, his Spanish translation is very good, and Lacámara’s bright, acrylic-and-collage artwork is appealing, the story ignores the inequities and dangers that immigrant and refugee children and their families must endure, and glosses over the issues of who gets to become a citizen and who doesn’t.

Mamá the Alien is sure to resonate with well-meaning teachers and librarians looking for picture books that are relevant to contemporary issues. And Mamá the Alien will surely be a hit as a read-aloud in bilingual early childhood classrooms. No doubt, refugee children will sit, heads down, confused and shamed and not understanding why.

We are living in a scary, dangerous time. Especially for undocumented children and their families, this fact cannot be disputed. Confused, scared, unaccompanied children who are running for their lives—to get to the “safety” of El Norte—more often than not find themselves in detention centers, waiting for strangers to decide their fates. And others may hide for years—sometimes with extended family members who live in the US—in fear of being caught and sent back. Their lives must be kept secret, even from their classmates and friends. The same issues come back again and again and again and again.

Immigrants with papers, on the years-long road to US citizenship, don’t have it easy either. Job and housing discrimination, and verbal and physical attacks by xenophobes, are common. Both documented and undocumented individuals and families are often insulted as “aliens,” and even, “illegal aliens.”

Children who are not enmeshed in this difficult life, whose citizenship has never been questioned, need to be taught to challenge these inequities. They need to be taught to recognize the pain and call out those who demonize immigrants and refugees, and to become allies in what might seem to be an impossible struggle. The conversation is necessary. It’s beyond excuses.

The publisher’s note enthuses, “The book’s bilingual text makes it an especially good fit for English language learners who may struggle to find books that reflect their experiences,” and Mamá the Alien has garnered raves from the major review journals. As the Booklist reviewer wrote, “[this] heartfelt and humorous story is perfect for primary-school readers, as well as a useful way for parents or educators to introduce the topic of immigration.” And the Kirkus reviewer called it “a delightful, original, clever, purposeful, multicultural alien tale.” Unfortunately, all are missing the point.

While I do not doubt the good intentions of the author and illustrator, both of whom are immigrants, Mamá the Alien / Mamá la extraterrestre trivializes the pain that so many children and their families undergo and makes light of migration issues that have yet to be resolved in this country. It cannot be recommended.

—Beverly Slapin

(published 7/21/16; revised 12/15/16)

Míl grácias a mi colega, Oralia Garza de Cortés.

Waiting for Papá / Esperando a Papá

author: René Colato Laínez 

illustrator: Anthony Accardo 

Piñata Books / Arte Público Press, 2004 

grades 2-4 

Salvadoran

In all the news media today, we see terrorized and desperate refugees—many are mothers with their young children, and many are unaccompanied children—running for their lives, fleeing El Salvador, Honduras, and Guatemala, as well as other countries torn by war. They arrive here by the thousands, to the unknown, to what they desperately hope is the relative safety of life in the country whose governmental policies and military practices are responsible for most of the chaos and horror engulfing their worlds. Guided by coyotes—the paid smugglers of humans who couldn’t care less if their charges live or die—many refugees from El Salvador make the perilous trek to el norte; dodging robbers while crossing three countries partially by bus and mostly on foot: up and down mountains, through rivers and across deserts. And soon after the so-called “illegals” arrive here, many are caught, jailed and deported by US immigration police.

The issues of refugees and immigrants are complex; but simply defined, refugees are desperate people forced to flee countries ravaged by war and human rights abuses. They are refugios, looking for safety and shelter. There are also economic refugees, whose livelihoods were destroyed, for instance, by the economic policies of the US toward Mexico. They are, as a colleague mentioned, “leaving home to go into the jaws of the shark.” Immigrants, on the other hand, are people who, for many reasons, move permanently from one country to another. All refugees are immigrants, but only some immigrants are refugees.

Waiting for Papá / Esperando a Papá is Colato Laínez’s story of a young boy who, with his mother, flee to the US three years before the story begins:

When I was five years old, Mamá and I had to leave El Salvador. The detergent factory where Mamá and Papá worked was bombed during the war. Two days later, our house caught on fire. All my toys, all my clothes, and even Papá’s favorite boots were burned. ‘Now, we do not have work, food, or a house,’ Papá said. (emphasis mine)

Here, the author’s use of the passive tense serves to obfuscate the agents of repression and terror, so young readers (even if they themselves are refugees) won’t have a clue about why all of these bad things happened.

Mamá’s father, who lives in the US, applies for and receives visas for his daughter and her son, but Papá has to stay behind. The story, though Beto’s eyes, is how the family eventually reunites.

Beto and Mamá quickly and easily obtain a visa. They arrive here by airplane, which is highly unusual for refugees from El Salvador, then or now. While in El Salvador, Beto narrates, Papá could not find work, and “going out in public was very dangerous.” But in their new home, by contrast, Mamá quickly and easily finds a job in a sewing factory and, after a year, has saved enough money to hire an immigration lawyer. It’s also assumed that they quickly and easily find an inexpensive place to live. Although the story hints that the family is seeking refuge here, through a series of unlikely events and occurrences, it belies the terror and uncertainty of the refugee experience.

Later, his teacher tells the children about Christopher Columbus. In this odd and historically inaccurate paragraph that infers that Columbus was the “first immigrant,” the author, through Miss Parrales, apparently tries to normalize immigration:

“Did you know that when Christopher Columbus discovered the Americas, many people from Europe came to what we know as the United States? Since then, millions of people from other countries have come. They are called ‘immigrants.’ I am from Mexico. I am an immigrant, too.”

At this point, Beto raises his hand and excitedly reveals that he, too, is an immigrant; and that his Papá could not come, but he hopes that they will soon be reunited.  Miss Parrales’ and Beto’s dialogues are neither natural nor believable. Both exist only to convey information—as well as to conflate refugees with other immigrants.

Soon, Mr. González, who is from Nicaragua and works as a radio host for “Voice of the Immigrant,” visits Beto’s class and suggests that, since Father’s Day is soon approaching, students write letters to their fathers “to tell him why he is special.” Since it’s widely recognized that many children either don’t know or have lost their fathers, exercises asking children to write letters to fathers is bad teaching practice, even if it’s suggested by a guest who should and would know better.

So Beto writes a beautiful letter, on the back of which “I drew my Salvadoran house on fire. I also drew Mamá screaming and Papá holding me in his arms while I cried.” What’s Beto’s motivation? Children who are refugees and other immigrants don’t write home about what a bad time they had at home. Rather, they’d be more likely to say, “I miss you,” and draw a picture of where they are now to make it look attractive so their relatives would come faster and be reunited with the family in this great place.

Beto is invited to appear on Mr. González’ radio show. While they’re on the air, an immigration lawyer phones and tells Mamá that “Papá will come home soon!” A few days later, Beto and his classmates gather a huge number of aluminum cans, which, “within a couple of weeks,” they take to the recycling machine and are paid $80, with which Beto purchases a pair of boots for Papá (exactly like the ones that were destroyed in El Salvador). And. “On the very next day,” Papá arrives by plane, and joins Beto and Mamá “in a big tight hug.” And. “On the last day of school,” Miss Parrales presents Beto with “a trophy for perfect attendance and a certificate for good behavior,” both of which he gives to Papá, along with the boots the child had bought. More big hugs, and Papá promises to be with Beto “forever.” The End.

Accardo’s bright pen-and-ink and watercolor art reflects the story, so much so that each child in Beto’s multiethnic classroom appears to represent a different continent. And, although the Spanish translation (with no translator noted) appears to be grammatically accurate, it’s as unexciting as the story.

The events in Waiting for Papá / Esperando a Papá are inappropriate and unrealistic, the dialogue is trite and wooden, and the story is contrived with too many coincidences and an all-too-neat resolution. It would not be a stretch to say that all refugee and immigrant kids dream of reuniting with their families. Waiting for Papá is the author’s attempt to write this dream—it’s hopeful, but in reality the dream is almost never realized. Colato Laínez was himself a refugee from the 12-year “civil war” in El Salvador, in which the US financed and trained the right-wing military and the death squads. Waiting for Papá / Esperando a Papá was Colato Laínez’s first children’s book and, fortunately, some of his later ones are better. As it stands, this one is not recommended.

—Beverly Slapin

(published 4/29/16) 

From North to South / Del norte al sur

author: René Colato Laínez

illustrator: Joe Cepeda

Children’s Book Press / Lee & Low, 2010

Grades 2-5

Mexican, Mexican American

From North to South / Del norte al sur is one of the few children’s books that directly address the issues of deportation and family separation. The young narrator is José, a child who travels from San Diego to Tijuana to see his mother, recently deported in a factory raid. At the shelter where she is staying, José meets other women and children who have also been separated from their families. It’s clear how deeply his mother’s deportation affects José—but this family’s situation is not broadly representative. José’s father is a permanent resident of the United States and can hire a lawyer for his mother, and José and his father live close enough to the border to visit her every weekend. His mother has been able to find lodging at a safe and welcoming shelter, and every indication is that she will soon be able to return home.

Joe Cepeda’s engaging illustrations, on a palette of earthy colors, complement the warm story of a loving family separated by the circumstances surrounding migration to the US.

There is much here for teachers to discuss with their students—especially the complex reasons behind José’s family’s separation and the different ways that families experience deportation. From North to South ends with a description of José’s dream as he sleeps on the car ride back to San Diego: Mamá has the right papers, the family crosses the border together, fireworks fill the sky, and José knows “that all the other children would see their parents soon, too.”

This is a beautiful dream, but it is indeed a dream. In reality, neither the other women and children at the shelter, nor our own students who face similar challenges, are guaranteed the same advantages and resources that José’s family has: They may not soon be reunited with their families. The real world just does not deliver endings so reliably. In this respect, the story hedges between attempting to portray the pain caused to children by deportation and providing a happy ending. In doing so, it sets students up with the unrealistic expectation that deportation is always temporary, and those who face it will always be reunited with their families in the US.

Still, From North to South / Del norte al sur remains one of the few children’s books that discuss this topic at all. So, as long as it’s paired with guided discussion, it might be a good classroom addition. Recommended.

—Grace Cornell Gonzales
(published 5/7/13)

This review, in a slightly different form, first appeared in Rethinking Schools (www.rethinkingschools.org). We thank Rethinking Schools for permission.

I am René, the Boy/ Soy René, el Niño

author: René Colato Laínez

illustrator: Fabiola Graullera Ramírez

Piñata Books / Arte Público Press, 2005

grades 1-3 

Salvadoran American

A youngster from El Salvador whose name is René—“René el valiente, René el fuerte y René el chistoso”—to his horror, finds out in his new school in the US that Renee, the homophone of his name, is a girl’s name! So he goes off to the library and researches his name. When an essay contest gives René the opportunity to write up his research, he wows everyone and wins two pizzas, which he, of course, shares with his class.

Ramírez’s cartoon illustrations are bright and detailed, and will grab young readers. Although this story is based on the author’s experiences, the story seems contrived, especially in the level of research (René Descartes the philosopher, René Magrite the artist) this young child is able to accomplish. Marginally recommended.

—Beverly Slapin
(published 4/7/13)