When the first entry of a beloved fantasy series was released, my family and I were living in a quaint town in Maine. I was relatively new to motherhood, while my partner’s work commitments often took him away. Our move from the bustling streets of Los Angeles to this serene locale of 5,000 residents brought challenges. With two small children and a sprawling three-acre property that included a pond, I found myself grappling with how to fill our days meaningfully.
I tried to emulate what I observed other mothers doing, pulling my kids in a vibrant red wagon to various local attractions like the beach, pool, and park. We built forts, baked cookies, and donned fairy wings and firefighter helmets. Yet, the moments that truly instilled confidence in my parenting were those spent reading together at bedtime.
A friend introduced me to the first book of a series that would become a cultural phenomenon, and it quickly became our family’s shared adventure. Unlike classic tales such as Winnie-the-Pooh or The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, this narrative was uncharted territory for me; I had no idea how it would unfold since the author was still penning the story.
My children are part of a generation that grew up alongside the release of each new installment. They were the kids who donned Harry Potter glasses and Hogwarts robes for Halloween, who eagerly lined up at midnight for the latest book, and who camped out for movie premieres.
Our connection to “the boy who lived” has spanned many years, taking us from those early days in Maine to our current home in suburban Washington, D.C. We transitioned from reading the books to watching the films and even listening to Jim Dale’s captivating narration on CD. In fact, Dale’s voice became a constant backdrop in our home, often leading to my husband feeling less engaged with the series compared to the rest of us.
When my partner unexpectedly left for a business trip, a unique opportunity arose. Throughout the summer, we had often said things like, “Before Mia leaves, we should try the Ethiopian restaurant,” or “Before Mia leaves, let’s hike Sugar Loaf Mountain.” Ultimately, we did none of those things. However, when my son, Lucas, suggested we binge-watch all the Harry Potter films, it felt imperative that we make it happen.
Carving out the time to watch the eight films, totaling 20 hours, proved challenging. My daughter was busy with packing and farewell gatherings, while Lucas juggled a summer job and a new girlfriend. Yet, as summer drew to a close and the air thickened with humidity, both kids eagerly returned home to gather in our cool basement, illuminated by the glow of our screen.
It took five nights to complete our cinematic journey. As we watched, we revisited old discussions and sparked new ones, enriched by their evolving perspectives. We delved into themes of good versus evil, the complexities of friendship, and the harsh realities of bullying. We cheered at the bravery of the characters and mourned the losses of beloved figures like Dobby and Snape. As Harry and his friends matured on screen, I was reminded of my children’s own growth, their friendships, and their experiences with love and adversity.
A friend had once remarked that the series portrays an unfair narrative regarding motherhood, suggesting that a mother’s love alone may not suffice to protect one’s children. At that time, with young children, the uncertainty of their futures loomed large. However, as I nestled close to my children during those five nights, a mix of bittersweet emotions washed over me. The mother I once envisioned myself to be had evolved into the mother I truly am.
Earlier in the year, while driving home from yoga, I was unexpectedly overcome by emotion. It felt as if years of motherhood had surged to the forefront, and I became acutely aware of the mother I was, the mother I am, and the future mother I will become. “Hurry home!” I felt my various maternal selves whispering. “Your children are here with you now, but this won’t last forever.”
My tears weren’t about mourning my daughter’s childhood or the end of my role as a parent. Rather, they were a reflection of the culmination of my worries and hopes. Our family story has unfolded beautifully, and for that, I hold immense gratitude. Yet, there is also an ache that comes with the realization that the anticipation of what lies ahead, akin to our first readings of the Harry Potter series, is now a thing of the past.
In conclusion, the magic of storytelling, the bonds of family, and the inevitability of change intertwine to create a rich tapestry of life experiences. This poignant journey reminds us to cherish each moment while embracing the transitions that come with growth.
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