All over the internet, you can read posts about how the final Harry Potter movie spells the end of one generation’s childhood. My generation, I guess. But I don’t feel the same way, not by far. Sure, I grew up with Harry Potter, and I devoured the books. But then, I grew up with a lot of books, and although I’ve read the Harry Potter series multiple times, I never dressed up in a cape to go to the midnight screening of the newest movie. I didn’t even bother to see any Harry Potter movies until last year. And perhaps that is where the difference lies.
Last year, when the first part of the final movie came out, I did a movie marathon weekend with friends, watching them all before going to the theater. (We’re doing the same next week to usher in the final movie.) That was awesome, but I don’t mind not having watched them earlier. Books is where it’s at for me, I guess is my point.
I do, however, have very fond memories of reading the final installment. I was away at college by then, living in a dorm-type apartment complex, and me and my peers were internet-savvy enough to have pre-ordered our books weeks or months before. So the mail man came by with a great big stack of books, obviously wondering why he was having to deliver so many identical packages to one apartment building. (For the record, when I gleefully exclaimed, “It’s the final Harry Potter!” he still looked confused. Obviously not of my generation.) I finished the book in a single afternoon, racing through the pages to get to the end. And then, the next morning, I walked to the grocery store, bought some cherries, and sat in the park rereading the book, now savoring every word, and eating my cherries, totally happy. It was one of the best days I had that summer and I remember it every time I open the book.
Of course, that could also have had something to do with the cherry stains now eternally embedded in my book..