I started reading Harry Potter at age 11. I was still at an age where I wanted so badly to believe that there really was a hidden world of witches and wizards. I pondered with my best friend for hours how it could be possible and how we might infiltrate such a world. We were baffled how two awesome people like us could be left out on this secret for so long.
I remember discovering Mugglenet.com and pouring over all of the theories and connections that people cleverer than I deduced from the books. Everyone was wondering how it would end, if Harry would die, and if Cho Chang was really Lord Voldemort trying to lure Harry to the dark side.
When they were casting for the films, I wished and wished and wished that they would cast me as someone. ANYONE. I would have taken Pansy Parkinson for all I cared.
I went to the midnight showings and the midnight book sales to be one of the first to witness The Boy Who Lived’s story. I screamed in frustration when Dolores Umbridge was so mean to Harry and when he felt so isolated, then sobbed when Harry experienced the loss of Sirius, then Dumbledore.
At 20 years old, I read Deathly Hallows while I was interning in LA. I finished in 12 hours and arrived a sweaty, unshowered, emotional mess to work (15 minutes late).
I’m a little over a month from my 25th birthday, and I have tickets to a 3:50 showing this afternoon. The midnight showing wasn’t an option this time around, as my husband needed sleep for work, but I secretly wanted to sneak out of the house to see it last night. I know that Harry Potter is not precious to my husband, and it might seem silly, but he is precious to me.
I grew up with these books and movies. I believe I was in the best age slot when these books surfaced in the United States–I desperately wanted to believe in magic and fairytales and happy endings, and Harry Potter provided the perfect escape into a wonderful world throughout my teenage years. As the movies are finally over, I feel like it truly is the end of an era-the end of that childhood innocence.
I am so happy that I grew up with such a wonderful and imaginative series of books that could transport me anywhere I wanted whenever my nose was buried in them; or of course, between book releases when I would daydream about what was next. Though the adventure is over for me, I am truly excited to experience this series through my own children’s eyes one day when they discover that magic as well.
Many Harry Potter fans my own age will consider themselves “dorks” or “nerds” for loving this series, but I reject that label because that isn’t what I am. I enjoyed a very human story about a boy against tremendous odds who overcame them with his courage, tremendous moral fiber, strength of heart and ability to love. How could anyone rooting for that boy be considered a nerd?
Are you a superfan of Harry? Did you grow up reading the books, or did you discover them at a later age?
