Ten years ago, while visiting my in-laws in Southern Utah, I found four colorful books neatly placed on their piano. I picked one up and read the title: Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. “They’re good books,” my father-in-law told me as I flipped to the first page. I was skeptical. Truthfully, I hadn’t read a page of a book for enjoyment’s sake since living in France. There, I was able to discover Dumas, Hugo, and Voltaire in their native languages. I had experienced rich description and a flow of writing that I never thought I would see again.
I flopped on the couch and started reading.
Before leaving their house, the next day, I had finished the first two books and borrowed years 3 and 4. I was hooked.
A lot has happened in the ten years since learning about the little boy wizard. The world has changed. I have changed. Through it all, I’m grateful to have experienced that wonderful series. I haven’t stopped reading because of it, and I still read The Deathly Hallows every few months, because I don’t want to forget.
It’s also been a lot of fun to follow the movies. Though they don’t equal the brilliance of the books, they’re a way for my younger children to experience Harry Potter with us. My kids scream at the scary parts and cheer for little Dobby. We had a Harry Potter marathon this week and laughed together and we lived the story all over again. Tomorrow night, at midnight, the last movie comes out. I’m a little sad.
As the experience closes, I must wonder: What’s next? Who has the great story to lift the world to a better place? I’m searching for that story.
In the meantime, thank you, Harry. Thank you for the inspiration. Thank you, Ms. Rowling for daring to dream and sharing your world with us.