On this awfully rainy September day, I’m hard core missing Harry Potter-Boy. Oh. You’re unfamiliar with him? Let me give you a brief education on the subject that will surely live on in Duke English Department folklore for years to come: During my sophomore year, a boy perched himself atop a wooden stool on my campus’ main quad, and read every line of the Harry Potter series aloud. Doesn’t that have the makings of some crazy mythic story?
I’m telling you, the dedication this boy had to his art exceeded all dedication I will ever have to anything, anyone, etc. Rain, snow or sleet, Harry Potter-Boy aligned himself with the United States Postal Service creed and always, always came through for his fellow students. I could count on him to provide a brief respite from reality every afternoon, diving into the most fantastical world I’ve ever known. It was magnificent, and I’ll always admire him.
Being read to is a luxury. As a little kid, my parents always took time to read to my siblings and me. From Little House on the Prairie to Edward Eager’s Half Magic, my parents emphasized an education in the classics of children’s literature. Harry Potter-Boy is the first person who read to me in years, and it felt like home. It reminded me of being all snug as a bug in my twin bed, holding onto my blankety and falling asleep beside my sister Haley.
Being read to epitomizes safety and comfort to me, and as I sit in 9th Street’s George’s Java, I’m super thankful for the clean, well-lighted comfort of a coffee shop. All it needs is Harry Potter-Boy…