User blog comment:JoePlay/Wizarding World Giveaway/@comment-4154634-20110716080337

I remember begging my dad to teach me to read. I wanted more than anything to understand why he’d sit on the couch for hours with books of different shapes and sizes. But I could hardly put sentences together then. When I was 8, I was excited to have the “biggest” book in the third grade. It was “Prisoner of Azkaban” and I my dad and I were the only people I knew enthralled in J.K. Rowlling’s wizarding world. Then the waiting began. As the books came out I was always the same age as the heroic Gryffindors. My dad always said I had the heart of a Gryffindor, the mind of a Ravenclaw, the compassion of a Hufflepuff and the cunning of a Slytherin. I remember my mom’s confusion and my delight, this was the best compliment I had ever received. My true character was proven when we found out that he had lung cancer. It’s been over three years and I still remember reading the 7th and final book to him as he lay in his hospice bed. I’m glad I remember reading to him as he did me. If not then I’d think of all the times my mother and brother disappeared, leaving me alone to deal with a dying man. I’ll never forget how the bed sores smelled, but I’ll always remember that, even if only for a moment, these books were an escape that we could share. To me, the Harry Potter books will always be what connected me most to my father. I just wish he had lived long enough to know that, even though we couldn’t overcome his Voldemort, at least Harry did. To me, Harry Potter will always be the bond I shared with my dad and the love for reading he taught me.