It may sound cliche, but I am so thankful for growing up in the midst of the Harry Potter era. I still remember flicking through the pages of the first two books after my granddad sent them to my older brother when I was too young to even read. In hindsight this memory should be forgotten. Who remembers the baby blue hard cover that lived beneath the dust cover of Chamber of Secrets when they were too young to even read the title? Apparently I do.
It wasn't until right before the 5th book, Order of the Phoenix, came out that I finally decided to give them a read. Which is odd because at that point in time I didn't think it possible for my nine year old brain to even dream of reading such a big book. It was more a weapon than a book, yet I worked my way through the first three slimmer books with ease before climbing the Everest that was Goblet of Fire and Order of the Phoenix back to back!
By that point in time I had already gone to see the first movie with my brother and our friends years before after scanning the paper to check what was on at the local cinema during the school holidays, and my mums best friend had taken me to see the second one after that.
I was hooked.
I remember an argument I had with my brother one day, I was adamant that maybe, just maybe the books would go on forever. He quickly burst my bubble, don't be so stupid Jordan, we have always known there would only be seven. I stuck to my guns, secretly certain that there would never be a day that we were not waiting for our next fix.
When the 7th book came out just a few days before my 14th birthday, my older brother gifted it to me before going to get his own copy, after not wanting to wait for me to finish it himself....he would have only had to wait a few hours, I was unable to put it down and finished it in a day. I then buzzed around eager for him to finish it himself so we could talk about it.
By 14 I knew the whole story, yet that anticipation lingered with every movie drop.
My best friends and I went and saw them all within a few days of release, whispering about the missing details or buzzing with excitement about a story we loved playing out in front of us. Ironically the day we were supposed to see the final movie, and complete our childhood tradition, the summer after we graduated high school, I came down with an awful stomach virus, and no matter how much I willed it away, they had to go without me. I remember laying at home incredibly jealous, and furiously sick, having to delay my viewing to the following week.
Harry Potter encompassed my childhood, although I was never the kid to dress up or camp out on release night, I have never felt so connected to a story in my life.
As cliche as it sounds, it truly was magic. Although reading is often viewed as a solitary act, this tale became such a bonding experience to most people my age. We all choked down vomit flavored beans as pre-teens, woke up at 1am to the DVD home screen pumping the theme song into our dreams, crossed our fingers that our letter would arrive and looked sideways at our household brooms....could they....? Nah, better not try.
It's no coincidence that prestigious universities have Quidditch teams of legal adults running around with a broom between their legs, feet firmly on the ground, or that in bars all over the world merry adults drink beers and get lost in a competitive round of Harry Potter trivia, passionately arguing with their friends about the birth order of a fictional ginger family we all wanted to be a member of.
All of these things happen because this story meant so much to so many, and as I sobbed my way through the reunion, at the end the screen faded to black and in the reflection was a crying almost 30 year old, who is somehow both full grown and forever 11 when she enters Hogwarts.
I'm not kidding....I genuinely sobbed.
Now if you will please excuse me, I have got to go reread my illustrated coffee table Harry Potter books and you guessed it....probably have another sentimental cry!
