I barely remember reading the first Harry Potter book, as many people my age have probably experienced, but I do remember the feeling of excitement and joy when it was over.
I remember when ABC aired the seen of Harry going into Ollivanders to get his wand, and the whole house was quiet and it seemed like every aspect of my mind was coming to life.
And who could forget having to wait so many years between each book? I’d always get the books at Midnight, and having the wait in line wasn’t even a pain because you were surrounded by people who were into the series just as much as you were.
But reading the first line of each book still lingers in my memory. It’s hard to forget the moment that I took home the final and last installment of the Harry Potter series, I locked myself in my room and didn’t even dare go near anything that could communicate to the outside world in fear that it would all be ruined for me.
I was so excited to read it that I barely let it sink in. I wanted to read it as fast as possible! It was insane. But once I finished I got to read it again at my own pace and enjoy each and every word.
I know billions of people have been touched by this story, but there’s a reason I would only let Harry Potter be inked onto my skin, there’s a reason I somehow managed to let myself live a few summers back: this story that I could drift into took me away to places that let me forget about all the bad.
So, happy day of birth to my childhood, Harry Potter, and an even happier birthday to J.K. Rowling who made every part of my childhood worthwhile.