When I was in first grade, my mom bought me the Harry Potter series because I was a little nearsighted nerd with a hyperactive imagination. As a little kid, I became obsessed with magic, spells, Hermione, and broomsticks. They were real in my mind and no one could convince me that my friends at Hogwarts were brilliantly conjured up by J.K. Rowling. I knew I was secretly a witch, and I held on to that knowledge for years.
My eleventh birthday was the day I learned the truth about myself. I don’t recall the presents I got or if I had a party or what kind of cake I had that day, but I do remember expecting my Hogwarts letter to show up any minute. I didn’t tell anyone about my secret hope, because my logical side knew that Harry Potter was fictional, but I still searched the skies every hour or so, looking for some sign of an owl. I even ran to the mailbox multiple times a day in hopes that maybe Hogwarts was in cahoots with the US Postal Service.Read More »