(This is a bit of a long story, but it goes to show that you can’t ever really stop liking Harry Potter.)
The first movie came out when I was 10. I watched it and fell in love with it, then my grandmother let me borrow the first three books. Right before I moved out of state, she bought me the forth book, which was one of the very few presents she ever gave me, so I cherished it.
I lived with my dad for a short while (after him not being in my life for the first ten years of it), during which time I found out that he was very religious and thought I’d grow up to be a devil worshipper or something if I read Harry Potter. Before I went to bed one night, he told me to hand over my book and follow him to the kitchen, where he threw it in the trash right in front of me.
I stopped reading them that instant, never fully understanding his reason for making me stop. Later I went back to live with my mom, whose new husband encouraged me to read the books and bought me the first four plus the rest of them the on day they were each released. Whenever I glanced at them sitting on my shelf, I always thought, “I’ll read them some day, when I’m not scared anymore.”
Up until about a year ago, I was afraid that if I even attempted to read them again, my dad would somehow know and make me feel bad about it or feel like I was doing something wrong. But now I’m an adult and realize that he doesn’t have to know every single detail of my life.
I have just recently started reading the Deathly Hallows, after catching up with the books that preceded it, and with every page I read I feel a bit rebellious, which makes it even more enjoyable. I loved the Harry Potter series from the very first moment I discovered it, and now love it more than ever.
