Thom Vande Ryse
author of the year 2012
Stealing For Life Now a Major Motion Picture
Winner of the 2012 Newbery Award
This memoir is dedicated to Katrin, Jorre, Dirk, and my language art teacher Mrs. Windust
A couple years ago when I was 10, my friends and I went to Essaouria. Back then an event took place that changed my feelings forever. I sliced my hand through the water and started paddling for another wave. When I touched the warm soft water, I felt as if I could live in the water, that it could be my home. The water was clear and there were mammoth waves. Knowing that this would be the last day of good wind and good waves, and that I had five more minutes until my hired board needed to get back to the surf club, I went deep to take the best wave to end this surfing day. I saw the blue water rise up while turning my board and waited until I would be caught by the wave. I heard the roar of the sea coming closer. I got shoved forward of the power of the wave, I knew this would be the last and best wave. I stood up and zigzagged on the wave, this was the perfect ending. I jumped off the board and landed on the sand with a fist palm feeling like one of the soccer players just scoring one of their most important goals. My joy wanted to burst out of my chest. Two hours later Amon, Isa, Jorre, my father and I, escorted to the sand soccer field we created a couple days ago when we were on the beach. This was the before last day in Essaouira, Morocco. My friends had already been to Essaouira a couple of times. Our friends had claimed that it is beautiful, “The gentle wind always slashes through your face on the beaches. The weather is tropical, admirable beaches and the chicks aren’t that bad.” When Amon declared that, all of us all burst into a chuckle of laughter. “Finally we reached ‘Summer Paradise,’ “I told to myself. I always tended to go to Essaouira. Begging my parents and trying to convince them that we should go with our best friends to Essaouira finally worked. Obviously Amon had been in Morocco three times already because he had a good tan. Amon was the same age as me brown hair and brown eyes. Isa was one year older than my brother who was nine one year ago. Amon and me were best friends and Jorre and Isa were best friends. Entering through the fence gate onto the beach I mentioned: “Ah, finally I can feel the sand again after two hours surfing in the water. So what are the teams? Amon and I against dad Jorre and Isa? For sure some Moroccan kids will join in later, they always do.” “Yeah,” Amon said, “and this time we're not going to let you guys win!” “Hahaha, very funny Amon,” Isa countered, “but today I will score a hattrick!”
Abandoning our bags and wet clothes on a pile close to the wall, my eye caught a movement of a boy sitting against the wall. I estimated him eleven years old with a giant burn scar next to his right eye. His clothes appeared as if they were ripped and he had broken slippers on his feet. He looked as if he is in a gang because he had scar that might have been from some punishment of not bringing enough money in for the day. His black upright hair confirmed that for me even more. He had a slim grim on his face and his eyes were moving from left to right if he noticed a single movement like a hulk seeking for a mouse. His scar was on his right side of his head. It was red and orange, and it looked really bad. The boy looked at our pile of clothes; we all had changed into our swimming pants, he was planning something; I could just read his face. Suddenly I felt as if he and I were the only ones on the beach and I completely focused on him. For a second I got eye contact but the boy nervously turned his head away. Forgetting about him we reformed the soccer field with some slippers some ten meters away of our belongings. “Oh I really am going to start playing soccer as a hobby,” joyfully Amon screamed. He hasn’t played soccer really much. He is my best friend. Every vacation we go with them somewhere. We already played soccer for one hour and we wanted to take a break. After we played soccer for an hour or two we suddenly our game got intercepted by a loud yell “Monsieur, monsieur, “a man in red T-shirt screamed pointing to the pile of our clothes. The boy I mentioned earlier started running to the street and then everything cleared up, he was stealing my dad’s pants, with my dad’s IPhone, money, and keys. The red T-shirted man ran towards the boy with my dad and I followed. The boy released the pants which I didn’t understand but it might be because he wanted to gain speed. “Vous slowbo courir plus vite,” a man selling fruits close to the beach screamed at the boy. The man who helped us out caught the boy and I had reached for the pants. I checked if everything my dad kept in his pants was still there and luckily everything was. I watched the man pull up the boy and drop him on the hard sand. “Voleur,” the man said to the boy. Giving him a couple of kicks the red T-shirted man let him go. Anger boiled up in my chest reaching my head I wanted to scream something bad to the boy and that he should do something good with his life. I wanted to roar all the anger out of me but it just didn’t come. I only whispered eight words instead, “If I see that boy one more time!”
We walked back next to the beach to our small house. We passed the man with the fruit stand and suddenly I stuttered, “G-guys see that’s the boy who almost stole our stuff, he is just acting normal and hanging out with a friend and eating a piece of mango. Like nothing happened!” “If I could just beat up that little guy,” Amon commented. While he said that I could feel my anger knocking in my lungs looking for freedom through my mouth. I couldn’t believe it was like a daily life event for the boy. The rest of the day I was aware of everything that might be a robbery or anything compared to that. I held an eye on every single piece of possession, scared by every fly coming close to my belongings. This day changed my life I was aware of what people need to do to survive. I went from being mad at the boy to being depressed for the boy, after that my dad had explained that the boy couldn’t afford food and lived under poor circumstances. So the boy had to steal in order to survive. I realized that people have worse lives than I do, that people have to steal to survive. I learned that sometimes I should help those who don’t live in luxury, to have some good times. When you’re at home, a luxury hotel, a five star restaurant, or anywhere else very luxury, or even in the cafeteria at school, you should think about how lucky you are to have been educated or that you live so healthy. When you are hungry and you buy something in the cafeteria but you don’t really like it and you throw it away. Remember the people, the people, who live under worse circumstances than me, that they would trade their house for a good meal. For just even one small meal they would be happy. Remember that the food you just threw away could have saved a life.
I couldn’t believe it. He chose us out of a million others. We were elected. Why was it my life he needed to change? It was a dangerous move, a move that changed my life.
I am not sure if there is any book which is at the same level at this. This book has really high quality. I recommend all memoir lovers to read this memoir. It would encourage other kids to write memoirs. This memoir has rich words, and bright vocabulary. -Don Sullivan-
Thom Vande Ryse received the 2012 Author of The Year Award, and The Newberry Award. This is his second book. Thom Vande Ryse is now studying in Warsaw, Poland, at the American School of Warsaw. He has already written a memoir and this one is definitely the better ones. Before he came to Poland he lived in Den Haag, The Netherlands for seven years. Stealing For Life is also a New York Times Bestseller.