The world of The Circuit is filled with hardships, but the bright spots in the characters’ otherwise melancholy lives are the connections they share with one another. The narrator, Francisco, and his family illegally cross the border from Mexico into California and make a living as itinerant laborers. Life is stressful for the family as they struggle to make ends meet, but their close, loving relationships with one another help to bolster them in the midst of hardship. Likewise, although they often face discrimination and downright cruelty out in the world, there are moments in which they are treated with kindness, which also help them to press on. Through this, Jiménez shows that human connection is crucial in these characters’ lives, because it helps them stay resilient amid their trying circumstances.
Francisco’s family is close-knit and caring, and they are united in the face of their troubles, which makes their difficult lives more bearable. Every family member in the household works hard and contributes to the family income. Even when Francisco’s mother is pregnant and can’t work in the fields, she makes money by cooking lunch and dinner for the other farm workers. From a young age, the children work alongside their parents in the fields, especially on weekends and during school vacations. In turn, the parents try to send the children to school whenever possible—sometimes, the children attend school even when money is tight, and their parents could use an extra hand in the fields. Their mutual concern makes them a strong unit since they face adversities together. In the story “To Have and to Hold,” Francisco’s little sister, Rorra, spends two of the oldest, most precious pennies from Francisco’s penny collection on gumballs. Francisco is furious, but his mother asks him to calm down, saying that “Rorra is more important than the pennies.” Her words embody the philosophy the family lives by—their love for each other trumps their worries about money.
As undocumented immigrants, the family often faces discrimination, but they also experience some surprising kindnesses from the community that make a big difference to their lives. For instance, when Francisco and his brother Roberto first get to California, they befriend a train conductor who slows the train down to wave to the boys since they wait by the tracks every day. One day, the conductor drops a bag of food for them, which they are very excited about. While the boys are initially disappointed that California isn’t as wonderful as they imagined it would be, the conductor’s kind gesture rekindles their hope that their lives might work out in this new place. In another example, Francisco’s mother, Mamá, asks a butcher for bones and scraps, saying they are for the dog. In reality, she is using these scraps to make food for the family since they have no money to buy meat. The butcher seems to guess that this might be the case and ends up leaving a lot of meat on the bones. He never questions Mamá’s story, since he doesn’t want to embarrass her, and his kindness helps the family eat well. While these small acts of kindness are emotionally nourishing for the family and encourages them to press on, they also literally nourish the family with food and help them to survive their harsh conditions.
Francisco craves and appreciates human connection, and he constantly tries to build relationships with people around him since he recognizes the importance of these links with his fellow humans. When he first goes to school, he feels alienated from his classmates since he doesn’t speak English. He gets into a fistfight with one of his classmates, Curtis, due to a misunderstanding that Francisco isn’t able to clear up because of the language barrier. Still, he tries to bridge this rift by offering Curtis a drawing he made, showing that even at a young age, Francisco appreciates connection. Similarly, when he sees a solitary goldfish in his neighbor’s house, he empathizes with the goldfish’s loneliness and finds it a fish friend. To Francisco, who often feels cut off from his classmates by his cultural, linguistic, and economic differences, his life seems to feel like a fishbowl that separates him from them. His gesture shows that he, too, craves the companionship he gifts the fish.
As a sensitive and empathetic boy, Francisco values companionship because he sees it as a positive in a life that is often difficult. Just as having a fellow fish as a friend might make the goldfish less lonely, human connections help the characters to bear their difficulties. By extension, Jiménez seems to be telling his readers to build connections with one another, since this is the only way to survive hard times.
Related Themes from Other Texts
Family and Community ThemeTracker
Family and Community Quotes in The Circuit
“I wonder where the train comes from,” I said. […]
“I think it comes from California.”
“California!” I exclaimed. “This is California!”
“I am not so sure,” he said. “Remember what…”
The familiar Noon Train whistle interrupted him. […] The conductor slowed the train to a crawl, waved, and gently dropped a large brown bag in front of us as he went by. We picked it up and looked inside. It was full of oranges, apples, and candy.
“See, it does come from California!” Roberto exclaimed.
As usual, they left me alone in the car to take care of Trampita, my little brother, who was six months old. I hated being left by myself with him while they went off to pick cotton. As they walked further into the field, I climbed
onto the roof of the car, stood on tiptoes, and watched them until I could no longer tell them apart from the other pickers. Once I lost sight of them, I felt pain in my chest, that same pain I always felt whenever they left Trampita and me alone. Sobbing, I climbed into the car and wrapped my arms around Trampita, who slept in the back seat.
I did not understand what she said, but I heard her say my name as she held up a blue ribbon. She then picked up my drawing of the butterfly […] and held it up for everyone to see. She walked up to me and handed me the drawing and the silk blue ribbon that had a number one printed on it in gold. I knew then I had received first prize for my drawing. I was so proud I felt like bursting out of my skin. […]
That afternoon, during our free period, I went over to check on the caterpillar. I turned the jar around, trying to see the cocoon. It was beginning to crack open.
When I saw Mama and Papa without Torito, I panicked. “Is he dead?” I cried out. […]
“No, he isn’t,” Mama snapped. “God won’t let him. You’ll see,” she added in a harsh tone. Her face was flushed and her dark eyes were full of tears. I was surprised and puzzled. Why would she be angry at me?
We were leaving only three weeks after I had enrolled in the fourth grade for the first time that year. As we drove by the school I saw some kids I knew on the playground. I imagined myself playing with them with the ball I would get for Christmas. I waved to them but they did not see me.
Searching for words to tell Mama how I felt, I looked up at her. Her eyes were full of tears. Papa, who was sitting next to her on the mattress, lifted its corner and pulled out from underneath the white embroidered handkerchief. He tenderly handed it to Mama, saying, “Feliz Navidad, vieja.”
[Papa] had been in a terrible mood the last few days because he was not sure where we would work now that the grape season was almost over. Covering his ears with his hands, he bolted to the corner of the garage, grabbed the broom, and swung with all his might at my friend who was perched on the wire. Red, green, and yellow feathers scattered everywhere. El Perico hit the dirt floor like a wet rag. Instantly Roberto, Mama, and I started wailing. My
father shouted at all of us to stop.
It was Monday, the first week of November. The grape season was over and I could now go to school. I woke up early that morning and lay in bed, looking
at the stars and savoring the thought of not going to work and of starting sixth grade for the first time that year. […] I sat at the table across from Roberto, but I kept my head down. I did not want to look up and face him. I knew he was sad. He was not going to school today. He was not going tomorrow, or next week, or next month. He would not go until the cotton season was over, and that was sometime in February. I rubbed my hands together and watched the dry, acid stained skin fall to the floor in little rolls.
The rest of the month I spent my lunch hours working on English with Mr. Lema, my best friend at school.
One Friday during lunch hour Mr. Lema asked me to take a walk with him to the music room. “Do you like music?” he asked me as we entered the building. “Yes, I like corridos,” I answered. He then picked up a trumpet, blew on it, and handed it to me. The sound gave me goose bumps. […] I had heard it in many corridos. “How would you like to learn how to play it?” he asked. He must have read my face because before I could answer, he added: “I’ll teach you how to play it during our lunch hours.”
That day I could hardly wait to tell Papa and Mama the great news […] but when I opened the door to our shack, I saw that everything we owned was neatly packed in cardboard boxes.
[…] Carl said, “When can I come to your house and see your collection?” His question took me by surprise. I never thought he would want to visit me at our home. And after seeing his house, I was not sure I wanted him to see where I lived. […]
After thinking of possible excuses, I finally said, “I live too far. I’ll bring my collection to school.” […]
I never got the chance to show Carl my collection. That weekend we moved to Five Points, and I never saw my friend again.
I recalled the fire and placed my right hand over my shirt pocket. It was empty. Feeling a lump in my throat, I started thinking about Carl, my pennies, the house. Then, for a long time, I thought about my librito and what Mama said. I could see in my mind every word, every number, every rule, I had written in my note pad. I knew everything in it by heart. Mama was right. It was not all lost.
“Mr. Sims offered me the janitorial job at Main Street School,” [Roberto] answered, grinning from ear to ear.
“It’s a year-round job,” Mama said, looking at Papa.
Being careful with his back, Papa stood up slowly and hugged her gently. He then turned to Roberto and said, “Education pays off, mi’jo. I am proud of you. Too bad your Mama and I didn’t have the opportunity to go to school.”
“But you’ve taught us a lot, Papa,” I answered. I had not seen Papa that happy for weeks.
