Throwback Thursday: Harry Potter

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Hogwarts castle, where Harry Potter attended school.[/caption]

With J.K. Rowling’s birthday approaching at the end of the month, I would be hard-pressed to think of an influential book from my childhood other than those of the Harry Potter series. Many of us grew up and discovered a love of reading through Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, or The Chronicles of Narnia. These books took us away into fantasy worlds and caught our imagination. There, we could help fight evil, learn magic, and do everything we never could in real life. Now, as an adult, I find that Harry Potter is close to me for what it connects me to in the real world just as much as what it did for me in the fantasy world.

My mother provided me with my first Harry Potter book. I can’t pinpoint my exact age, as all of my childhood seems to blur together, but I know it was my birthday in winter, which meant that the next few days were spent in the joy of comfy blankets and a new book. More of the series came as it was published, all from the encouraging hands of said mother. Harry became my best friend in a world where I, like many children, felt friendless. Hogwarts became my escape and my home for many years.

When Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows was published, my mother hand-delivered it to me in its brown cardboard box, courtesy of pre-ordering the book in the mail. We sat on the couch together as she read the dedication on the inside, just as she used to read to me when I was smaller. I was the only reader in the family and, though she didn’t read the books or watch the films attentively, my mother knew it was an important time for me.

It was, unfortunately, a short time after that when she passed away. I found myself feeling lost and homesick for a place that I could not go back to. After a while, I picked up the Deathly Hallows again, and I was comforted. Harry had been my friend for many years, and now he was the only person I knew who could understand what that loss felt like. The series is now for me a combination of a wonderful set of books that spark imagination and a place where I can remember someone who meant quite a lot to me. I am both amused and touched when my relatives unknowingly comment that I have my mother’s eyes, as it reminds me not only of her, but also of one of the dearest friends I’ve ever had.