Harry Potter and the End of (my daughter's) Childhood

The end of Harry Potter’s childhood and my daughter occurred at the same time.

We celebrated by seeing the second half of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows at the movie theater.

Afterwards, we followed up with a party we called “Harry Potter and the End of Childhood.”

While it marked the end of my daughter’s childhood, it also ended an era for me.

I first heard of Harry Potter in 1997. My sister-in-law had purchased the first book and suggested I take a look.

I read Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone that night at their house, staying up way too late. I read the next one at their house as well, again staying up too late to finish it in one sitting.

My Christian friends had heard about it and several asked me if it was suitable for their children because, well, magic, witches and spells.

Oh, my.

Several things bothered me about the books from the start.

Harry kept getting away with everything.

Those in authority would warn him not to do something, he’d do it, Hogwarts would be saved and no one learned anything about accountability.

With my own child about the same age as Harry in those years, I knew Harry needed some form of discipline.

Otherwise, he’d defy authority again and try something else.

Which, of course, describes all the Harry Potter books.

But the language was rich, the creativity profound, and the whole read fun. Rowling had a very thorough knowledge of alchemy and obscure Latin words, not to mention witch stuff.  It bothered me, but I could deal with it.

Besides, he was becoming a cultural phenomenon.

How could I possibly comment intelligently if I didn’t read the Harry Potter books? Click to Tweet

Meanwhile, at the library and school . . .

During those first years of the series, I volunteered to shelve books at the local library.

It wasn’t until 2000 that I slid a Harry Potter book onto the shelves–they had always gone straight to “requested hold” status before that.

Who could blame folks? I reserved them from the library myself as soon as the latest edition arrived.

I also worked in my daughter’s bilingual classroom and one day a native Spanish-speaker boy asked for a Harry Potter book. The power of a story to inspire a kid who didn’t much like to read, impressed me. All the educators who crowed about the value of Harry Potter to get boys into books, were right.

Still, none of my kids paid particular attention until our 2003 vacation in New Zealand. Our ten-year-old daughter read all the books she brought before we finished the fourteen-hour flight to the other side of the equator.

In vain, I searched every bookstore we encountered trying to find  something else for her to read. But the children’s book section everywhere in New Zealand stocked only the same titles: Harry Potter.

That bothered me. What happened when the children of New Zealand read all the Harry Potter books? They’d have nothing else to read their entire childhood? Click to Tweet

Book sellers all shrugged.

I didn’t purchase any Harry Potter titles because one of my college sons brought all the books with him. His sister joined him and devoured the books too. We’ve got a photo of her, reading a Harry Potter book rather than staring out the window at sheep.

One rainy night in Dunedin, we  went to the movies and saw Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. Even my husband, who had never heard of the books, enjoyed the story.

Really, they started to need editing . . . .

The books had become hugely fat by 2003 and they felt ponderous to me. One book in particularly could have had 100 pages cut out without ill effect. The kids I knew were scandalized at the thought–“what do you mean, J.K. Rowling needs to be edited?”

“What’s the point of that whole section in the hospital? Do we need it?” I asked.

“Oh, yeah,” they agreed. “That was too long.”

Back in school, my daughter and her friends read and re-read the books together. They got wands, drew pictures and haunted fanfiction sites.

We began a tradition of seeing the movies the day they came out–I’d pick up my daughter and her friends after school and go directly to the movie theater. I still wasn’t keen on the magic themes, but I appreciated Harry Potter gave me something in common with my child, particularly during the challenging junior high years.

As the series wound toward the end, I tormented children with my prediction J.K. Rowling would kill Harry in the last book.

“How can you say that, Mrs. Ule?” aghast children asked.

“If you owned a castle in Scotland and had two young children, would you want to spend all your time writing books about Harry Potter?”

I’m happy to report most kids understood.

“Yeah. She should play with her children.”

The final book

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows–the book–released at midnight the night before my daughter left on a summer trip. Several of her friends wore costumes, but we wore our jeans to the local bookstore throwing a Harry Potter party. We arrived about eleven o’clock and wandered the stacks observing people in costume, playing games, listening for updates and generally anticipating the final story. Just before midnight, employees pushing carts brought out cartons of books.

My daughter had her number and I stood in line. She had read the first chapter by the time we left the store. She stayed up all night reading the book, handing it off to me at 6 am. “You’ll love it.”

She went to bed and I read the last chapter–because I knew that’s what J.K. Rowling had been writing towards for so many years (she wrote the last pages first).

After reading that, I figured I might as well read as much of the book as I could before my daughter flew away, taking it with her, and so I and turned to the first chapter.

I finished the book just as my husband drove the car into the Oakland airport.

And you know what? I was satisfied. Rowling pulled off a great ending.

The stories go on, even though the books we’d finished reading the series.

Our Brazilian foreign exchange student learned English so she could read the Harry Potter books. “I had to read them with a dictionary by my side at first,” Giovanna said, “But I could read them straight through by the time I got to the last books.”

Like all smart reading girls, I saw myself in Hermione. I cheered for Neville because he shared a family name.

And I loved Alan Rickman as Snape–I wore a button at the bookstore the night Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows released: “Snape is good.

My daughter finished her freshman year of college in time for the final movie.

We saw it just a few days shy of her 19th birthday–Harry’s age in the final book  (though her brother tells me Harry, born in 1980, was actually 12 years older).

It was a rich childhood with Harry Potter, Hogwarts and J.K. Rowling. I’m going to miss them–but just as I remember my children in their childhood, I’m sure I’ll always remember Harry, Hermione, Ron and the gang with an equal fondness.

Thanks.