I've never really gotten into Harry Potter.
It's not that I didn't get out as a child, because I did. A lot. However in 1998, at the tender age of six while y'all were getting over-enthusiastic about some young wizard with entirely too many problems for an 11-year-old I was focused on something entirely more important: The Spice Girls. Unlike Harry Potter, my fave British imports provided a more realistic potential career path. While I wasn't likely to change anything by waving a stick around and chanting weird Latin-ish phrases, I could totally get behind lip-synching and slutty dancing, a l Regina's little sister in "Mean Girls." I mean let's be real, wouldn't you rather be Baby Spice than Hermione Granger in the first movie? That hair it's like sixth grade all over again.
Besides, what six-year-old wakes up on Christmas, runs to the tree, hurriedly unwraps her presents and goes, "OH MY GOD A BOOK!!!! HOW DID YOU KNOW?!"
But someone (lookin' at you, Uncle Steve) did give me the grand gift of Harry Potter at a young age. And as with all of those heavy, papery things we call books, I unwrapped it, took one look and said with zero-to-negative enthusiasm, "Oh, a book."
Spoiled? A little. Correct? I think yes.
But no matter how much I passive-aggressively fought it, the books kept coming. Harry Potter may as well have been kiddie crack, because all my friends were addicted. All of a sudden, previously normal(ish) kids were running around school in strange clothing including capes and striped socks, waving around plastic wands, talking about "Death Eaters" and randomly popping out of dark corners screaming things like, "Win guard my um Doritos AAH!" Young me was incredibly lost.
So I finally tried reading one and came to a realization that would haunt me for life: People enjoy strange things. How do you guys like this stuff? While HP admittedly wasn't as bad as Lord of the Rings (I could never get past the first 10 pages), it was nowhere near as entertaining as my nerdy Terry Pratchett books. The wizards were mean and scary, nobody was funny and I swear to God that no matter how many times I read about Quidditch, I will never understand how the game is played.
And then there were the movies. While I do admit that Emma Watson is fabulous at life (even if she experienced momentary brain death when she decided to go to Brown), I'm not sure I'll ever be manly enough to handle them. They're terrifying! First, there's the ginger kid who always has a totally vacant expression and slurs incomprehensibly, and the score sounds like what Chuckie would play before he went on his crazy killing spree. Hagrid is basically one of those biker dudes my mom told me to stay away from, but now I'm supposed to like him. Dumbledore IS Santa, only he doesn't give out tons of prezzies. There are ghosts everywhere, the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher changes every year, and oh did I mention there's SOME RANDOM OLD DUDE THAT'S DETERMINED TO KILL SOME INNOCENT 11-YEAR-OLD, all because of some strange fascination with a lightening-bolt scar. Shit's real, man.
And beyond that there was the societal pressure. It got to the point where I had to pretend I understood everything about Harry Potter. A horcrux? I totes know what that is slash why on earth you'd need seven of them. The fifth movie? I definitely didn't spend the entire time "going to the bathroom," and I certainly didn't have nightmares a week after watching it. Hermione's hair circa the Yule Ball? I love it too!
Why such blatant lies? Because, in the words of my incredibly understanding, super sensitive, non-censoring editor, "You haven't read Harry Potter? You're on the outside of, like, EVERY inside joke. Ever."
But from now on, no matter how good I am, I'm done faking it. I'll stick with R Patz and his intense (if awkward) stares, no matter how embarrassing. Y'all can have Daniel Radcliffe and his horse-loving wand. (Hint: look up Equus but be warned.)
