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Where was your child at the stroke of midnight on Friday, July 15th? I know where mine was: camped out in the Wal-Mart parking lot, awaiting the arrival of the sixth Harry Potter novel. As a mother, I jump up and down with joy, thrilled that my son’s drug of choice is a grand adventure in a spooky, magical castle between the pages of a book.
For almost eight years, I’ve resisted the craze associated with the Harry Potter novels. After all, they can’t be that good, can they? After about the eight millionth person gushing, “Oh, you’ve got to read Harry Potter. He’s the best thing since Charlie Bucket!” I was afraid I would be disappointed. I was never a huge fan of Roald Dahl and his chocolate factory and giant peach. Instead, I was into Judy Blume, Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret, and Nancy Drew, The Message in the Haunted Mansion.
Then, last night, I picked up a copy of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone (read the review), and the world around me disappeared. I was immediately transported to a place where an enchanting train station carried me to delightful places and where shopping strips sell magic wands, spell books, and collapsible cauldrons and can only be found by those who know where to look, where cats talk and owls deliver mail, where a crystal clear lake leads to a mysterious castle with talking pictures, forbidden rooms, flying brooms, three-headed dogs, invisible cloaks, aerial sports, and loads of adventure and mystery.
Harry Potter made my dreary adulthood with all its problems fade. I remained lost for hours in the imagination of J.K. Rowling. I became a child again, revisiting my innocence, sneaking around in the dark with Harry, Hermoine, and Ron, learning magic in a faraway kingdom, helping save the day from evil wizards practicing the Dark Arts.
I beckon you to join me at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Come on in and try a Flavor Bean. I promise not to laugh if you bite into a booger-tasting one. Still not intrigued? Oh, well, catch you later, all you Muggles (that’s a person with absolutely no magic in their blood, in case you’re wondering); I’m off to explore the chamber of secrets.
