When I was in junior high, the school had a “brilliant” idea about having a literature class AND an English class. Me, being the avid avoider of reading was DREADING this. My teacher, though, read books to us. One chapter every day at the beginning of class. I can’t recall all the books she read to us that school year, but I do remember one of them was Holes. Eh. But then she announced she’d begin reading to us Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. Ugh. NERD BOOK! Coincidentally, the first movie was going to be coming out in theaters later that year. So that first day of this new book when I got to class, I begrudgingly sat down to listen to this book for losers. Within 5 minutes, I was hooked and simply could NOT tune my ears away. Here, over a decade later, I can still distinctively hear her voice reading that Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number 4 Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. Being as that none of the books were movies yet, I used my own imagination to draw in my mind these characters and places and creatures named and described within the 300 odd pages. This place was truly magically. The big controversy at the time was how Harry Potter was evil and promoted witchcraft and was a terrible influence on children. For this reason, my parents wanted to go see the first movie to find out with all this hubbub was. I naturally went along. It was fantastic!! The casting, the sets, they were just what I’d imagined and dreamt Hogwarts would be like. After that, “hooked” wasn’t even enough to describe me. I saw every movie as it came out (numbers 4 through 7 I’ve seen at midnight releases). I began to read. What? Me? Read? No…Yes! I hated reading from second grade on, and now, you couldn’t pay me to put these books down. As new ones were released, I’d begin reading them immediately. I even pre-ordered a few of the books and went to the bookstore at midnight to snag my copy and begin feverishly reading. I FOUND movie number 3 still in the plastic wrapped case on the street once. Who knows how it got there, but I now would like to think it somehow bumped into a port key or disapparated and found its way to me. When book 7 was finally released, I “thankfully” had mono, so I had a great excuse to lie in bed and read. I simply couldn’t put it down. It was so in depth, so heart wrenching, and so beautiful. The ending of this fantastic journey ended…perfectly. I couldn’t believe it was over though. Never again would Harry, Ron, and Hermione hang out with Hagrid or sip a butter beer at the Three Broomsticks. I’d never read another tale of Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle trying to sabotage every Hogwarts house but their own. Never again would I feel a shiver at the mention of “He Who Must not Be Named.” But wait! There were still more movies. SCORE! And thus, the midnight release parties continue. As I write this, I’m looking at this online Fandango receipt. It’s for the 12:01AM showing of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part 2 on July 15. It’s the last time I will ever buy a midnight release ticket for Harry Potter. And it’s bitter sweet. Even though I already know the ending, this is still as exciting as waiting for the book to reach my hands back in July of 2007. I’ve grown up as Harry and his friends have. I’m 23 and now instead of dreaming about these fictional stories, I’m dreaming of one day having children, appropriately named Hermione and my new favorite, Phoenix (like Order of the Phoenix. Oh yeah, it’s genius). I can’t wait to share these stories I love so much with them. I can’t imagine my life without these books. They have so many times taken my away from the trials of everyday life and transported me to a magical world full of adventure and excitement. I am the proud owner of all the books, all the movies, nearly all the Lego sets, a few Hogwarts text books, the book Dumbledore gave Hermione, and a lovely little Harry Potter inspired tattoo. If I could, I would thank J.K. Rowling for making me love reading again and for opening my life to so much more than I could have ever dreamed of on my own. Nothing will ever compare to the boy who lived.
