Summer, 2006:
I had just gotten familiar enough with London and the tube that I felt comfortable enough to venture out on my own. And after studying the tube map long enough I figured out that I could go to Kings Cross station. Wait, WHAT! Kings Cross station! The very gate way into the world of magic! The home of platform 9 & 3/4! The exact spot where the Hogwarts Express makes Berth! No freaking way.
Kings Cross was calling my name. I could see my name scrawled in green ink on parchment telling me that I was suddenly 11 years old again and harboring latent magical powers. At night I dreamed of owls. I had to go.
So I did.
During the tube ride to Kings Cross I was so excited I looked like I was hopped up on Fizzing Whizbees and Acid Pops. When I arrived, it was nothing like I expected it to, but still just a cool as I had hoped. My friends and I searched around for platforms nine and ten. "There it is!" came a yell and we made a dash to the arched brick wall that held the sign "Platform 9 3/4". Sigh. I had made it. I had fulfilled my destiny. I knew what I had to do. I shot forth with a burst of speed...
Kings Cross was calling my name. I could see my name scrawled in green ink on parchment telling me that I was suddenly 11 years old again and harboring latent magical powers. At night I dreamed of owls. I had to go.
So I did.
During the tube ride to Kings Cross I was so excited I looked like I was hopped up on Fizzing Whizbees and Acid Pops. When I arrived, it was nothing like I expected it to, but still just a cool as I had hoped. My friends and I searched around for platforms nine and ten. "There it is!" came a yell and we made a dash to the arched brick wall that held the sign "Platform 9 3/4". Sigh. I had made it. I had fulfilled my destiny. I knew what I had to do. I shot forth with a burst of speed...
Summer 1999:
Middle school that year was going to be painful. I was not looking forward to my ninth grade year because middle just stinks, stinks bad, like a sweaty seventh grader who'd just eaten a bean burrito. But there I was. No escape.
About a week into the school year, early August, I came home and threw my backpack on the floor and shouted "No me gusta la tarea!" It was my second year of spanish and all I remembered how to say over the summer was "I hate homework!" I was in fine pouting form. I sauntered into the kitchen to graze and upon the counter I spied a book. It had been thrown there without a second glance from my brother. It turns out his bff had given him some new book called "Harry Potter and the Sorcerers Stone" I liked books, so I picked it up. The cover was an art deco kind of weird. I turned it open and began to read. The first few pages were stranger than the girly looking kid riding a broom on the cover. I had to keep going. I had never read anything that had clamped onto my imagination like that. Before I had finished the first twenty pages I knew that the way I would look at stories would be forever changed. Maybe this year wouldn't be so unbearable after all. I began referring to my math teacher as Snape and my history teacher became Binns.
As the years passed and I waited for books four through seven to come out I made some of the most fantastic memories a person could make. To quote Jo from the 90's version of the Little Women film "Late at night my mind would come alive with voices and stories and friends as dear to me as any in the real world. I gave myself up to it, longing for transformation" Ron, Harry, and Hermione grew up with me. As they began to make hard life decisions, I was beginning to make hard life decisions. As they were learning about the darkness and light of the world, I was was too. As they were starting to believe that they could fight the war and save the world, I was starting to believe that I could win my fight on self doubt and save myself.
About a week into the school year, early August, I came home and threw my backpack on the floor and shouted "No me gusta la tarea!" It was my second year of spanish and all I remembered how to say over the summer was "I hate homework!" I was in fine pouting form. I sauntered into the kitchen to graze and upon the counter I spied a book. It had been thrown there without a second glance from my brother. It turns out his bff had given him some new book called "Harry Potter and the Sorcerers Stone" I liked books, so I picked it up. The cover was an art deco kind of weird. I turned it open and began to read. The first few pages were stranger than the girly looking kid riding a broom on the cover. I had to keep going. I had never read anything that had clamped onto my imagination like that. Before I had finished the first twenty pages I knew that the way I would look at stories would be forever changed. Maybe this year wouldn't be so unbearable after all. I began referring to my math teacher as Snape and my history teacher became Binns.
As the years passed and I waited for books four through seven to come out I made some of the most fantastic memories a person could make. To quote Jo from the 90's version of the Little Women film "Late at night my mind would come alive with voices and stories and friends as dear to me as any in the real world. I gave myself up to it, longing for transformation" Ron, Harry, and Hermione grew up with me. As they began to make hard life decisions, I was beginning to make hard life decisions. As they were learning about the darkness and light of the world, I was was too. As they were starting to believe that they could fight the war and save the world, I was starting to believe that I could win my fight on self doubt and save myself.
(Almost) Summer 2012:
I there hasn't been a single year since 1999 that I haven't read a Harry Potter book. I remember the first time read them and the last time I read them. I remember all the times in between. Every time I read the first book I remember running full speed into platform 9 and 3/4. The real one. I try to forget the fact that I ate brick. But I will never forget the times I spent with HP.
This is a picture of the real Platform 9 and 3/4 at the King Cross in London. I love that some worker sawed a trolly in half and stuck it in the wall. Whoever you are I give 10 points to Gryffindor and a plethora of hugs and kisses for making my nerdy fantasies real.
This is a picture of the real Platform 9 and 3/4 at the King Cross in London. I love that some worker sawed a trolly in half and stuck it in the wall. Whoever you are I give 10 points to Gryffindor and a plethora of hugs and kisses for making my nerdy fantasies real.
