User blog comment:JoePlay/Wizarding World Giveaway/@comment-4147345-20110714163103

It is not uncommon to hear young adults speak about how Harry Potter was such an integral part of their childhood. I must admit, Harry Potter was not a part of my childhood. Rather, it was my childhood. Painful as it is to say, I was not a popular or outgoing child, and I did not have friends. Friends, that is, made of flesh and blood. I had many friends of the paper variety. Books were my soul mates, my constant companions, even before Harry Potter came along. I spent many a recess in the library or, when I was kicked out, reading on the pavement by the door. And when I was inevitably scolded for not running amuck on the playground like a normal child, I hid under the slide and continued my literary adventures, which far exceeded playing tag with a bunch of boogery boys. I still recall the day I encountered a copy of Harry Potter and The Sorcerer’s Stone in my local bookstore, on a shelf so high I could barely reach it. I remember stretching up, snatching it down, and gazing in wonder at the cover of a boy wizard, chasing after a strange, winged ball while riding a broomstick. Oh, joy! As a lover of all things fantasy who had already explored Narnia and Middle Earth, such a cover appealed to me greatly. And so it was mine, and I vividly remember reading about the revolting Dursleys in the opening chapter as my mother drove home, not knowing what was in store for me, just like poor, baby Harry… It was the beginning of what would be a lifelong journey and a lifelong love. Like most Harry Potter fans, I became hooked. I stocked up on plush owls, snatched the most respectable looking twig I could find in my yard, and ran wild through the neighborhood, thinking I was just like Harry, but probably looking more like I had escaped from a mental asylum. Over the years I attended all of the midnight release parties, saw each film multiple times, spent way too much money on merchandise – the whole shebang. But Harry Potter wasn’t all fun and games. It was also a source of great comfort to me. When I became chronically ill in high school and had to face the fact that I would never be a normal, healthy girl again, I did not turn to my family or my few friends. Indeed, many of them fled in the face of having to “deal” with me. I turned to Harry, to Hermione, and to Ron. They helped me remember what my life used to be like – what it could still be like, if I just had hope. I took strength from their trials, reminding myself that everything could be much worse. Harry Potter gave me heart. It gave me innocence. It gave me the ability to find light in a world that often seemed so dark. Above all else, it gave me magic.