A Mother's look at how the world of Harry Potter has affected her own world -- and her childrens'....

By Deborah Ground Buckner 

When Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone by J. K. Rowling appeared in hardcover in 1998, I missed it.  I can blame it on a busy year of moving to a new home and starting children—one in kindergarten—in a new school.  Besides, a new children's book by an unknown author who emerged from nowhere didn't generate the media hype that has since followed. 

In the fall of 1999, my son came home from school one day with a lightning bolt drawn on his forehead in washable marker.  Naturally, my maternal curiosity kicked in and I asked him, 'What's that?”  He explained his third grade teacher had been reading a book to the class about Harry Potter, a boy wizard with a lightning bolt scar on his forehead.  The class celebrated the completion of the reading with each member receiving a “scar”. 

Who was this Harry Potter?  My husband and I had always tried to keep abreast of our children's reading material (which has introduced us to some wonderful literature published after our young reader days).  On the next Scholastic book order from school, we marked the box for the paperback of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone.  As had been our long-established practice, my husband and I started to read the book aloud together.  On page one, we were parents trying to see what had so enchanted our son.  By page two, we were hooked Potterphiles staying up far too late each night to read “just one more chapter.” 

By December 1999, hardback editions of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets and Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban were both in the bookstores.  One appeared under the Christmas tree and the other wrapped for my son's birthday a few days later—but before he opened his gifts, his parents had already read the books.  Then my daughter and I started with the first book and buzzed our way through all three.  The children's Beanie Babies were suddenly cast in a “Harry Potter play,” with a Fisher-Price castle serving as Hogwarts.  A special effect had Inch the Inchworm portraying Quirell, the first Hogwarts Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, complete with a turban that hid the evil face of Voldemort. 

“When is the next book coming out?” was asked more frequently than “How much farther is it?” on a long car trip.  Fortunately, we only had to wait until 2000 for Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.  My son read each night, and as soon as he was tucked into bed, it was our turn to carry on with the adventures of the Boy Wizard.  Then came a wait of three years for the next book.  Yes, J. K. Rowling had married and had a new baby, but was this really a good excuse to keep us all anticipating how the story would unfold? 

Fortunately, the films began.  The first, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, opened in November 2001.  All of our relatives were in town for Thanksgiving, and after a Sunday brunch, eleven of us went to see the film.  My son, dressed in a navy blue jacket, was simultaneously elated and embarrassed when the theater usher told him he “looked like Harry Potter.”  A Harry Potter trivia game, Snape's Potions Lab, and two Hogwarts board games (complete with electronic sounds) greeted us that Christmas.  When January 2002 saw us iced in for two days in a storm that left us without electricity, the kids and I bundled up in sweatshirts and, with flashlights, moved our pieces around Hogwarts, the electronic sounds even more frightening when played in near darkness. 

That spring took the family to England.  My daughter had to take along two Harry Potter travel games, hard plastic “books” that opened to reveal a board and playing pieces.  On our return home, she was halted by British airport security in those post 9/11 flying days, who demanded she open the books and show what was inside.  “Haven't people in England ever heard of Harry Potter?” she questioned as only a nine-year-old can. 

That November we were in the theater to see Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, a special treat for this Kenneth Branagh fan to see his turn as Gilderoy Lockhart.  I forced my impatient children to sit through all the credits to see the final treat of one more glimpse of Gilderoy.  While we continued our wait for the next book, Lego came to the rescue with Harry Potter building sets.  Santa Claus and grandparents provided them all, and soon our basement was transformed to Hogwarts, including Hagrid's hut and the Hogwarts Express.  Lego figures of Gilderoy Lockhart began appearing mysteriously atop my computer.            

2003 finally brought the next installment, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.  By then, Potter mania was in full swing, and bookstores counted the days until a Hogwarts party with the book on sale at midnight.  My husband and son were away at Boy Scout camp, so my daughter and I prepared to go to the party and purchase the book, her first time to stay out past midnight.  For two days, she planned her Harry Potter costume:  A black wizard's robe, a star-and-moon-studded pointed hat, round black glasses, a magic wand, and a stuffed toy of Hedwig the owl  on her shoulder.  Ten minutes before time to leave for the party, she asked, “Who are you going to be?”  I hadn't planned on being anyone other than a Muggle Mother, but I don't say no to that eager little face.  A quick search of the closet revealed a Shakespearean costume my husband had worn to an event a few years before.  I donned the gold pantaloons and blue and gold slashed doublet, poufed up my hair and practiced smiling.  “I'm Gilderoy Lockhart!” I told her.  She was satisfied and we were soon at the local Borders, having our picture taken by the staff who proclaimed us “Wonderful!”   

The store was packed with Potterphiles, many small versions of Harry, Ron, and Hermione about the aisles.  My daughter reached into a Sorting Hat held by Professor Dumbledore and soon found herself happily placed in Griffyndor.  She designed a Magic Wand, took a Harry Potter trivia test, and participated in a costume contest.  The highlight for her, though, was a game involving Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans.  A parent was seated in a chair facing a throng of children while his or her child chose two flavors of the beans.  The parent had to eat them both, state which one was preferred, then try to guess the flavors.  All the while, a costumed store employee held up signs to reveal the flavors to the onlookers who broke into giggling fits.  “If it's vomit, you're grounded!” one father cautioned his son.  When I took my place in the “comfy chair,” I announced to the crowd that I preferred the first bean to the second.  My  daughter had the special recognition of being the first to choose the combination of Booger and Dirt.  When the book went on sale at midnight, we were soon part of the happy group running to the parking lot with the next installment in hand. 

We waited two more years for Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince to be released in 2005.  Fortunately, we had a new film to enjoy.  Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban saved a rainy afternoon vacationing in Massachusetts when our outdoor plans for the day had to be canceled.  Another Hogwarts party found my daughter again as Harry Potter with me as Professor Sybil Trelawney, complete with teased hair, large glasses, a crystal ball, a tea cup, and an outfit that looked the way a Bertie Bott's vomit bean tastes.  My son, then 14, coolly went as a Muggle.  Again, the book was in constant use as each family member took a turn reading.  The debate over whether Severus Snape is good or evil raged over several nights at the dinner table. 

Last year, a family trip to Oxford with our church choir found us excitedly touring some now-famous Harry Potter locations.  We saw the Great Hall of Hogwarts and stood in the shadowy hallway where Harry slyly caused Lucius Malfoy to give Dobby the House-Elf a sock, thereby setting him free. On an Oxford “ghost walk,” our guide pointed out the location where “Mad-eye” Moody turned Draco Malfoy into a ferret. 

Finally, after another two years of waiting, we are currently taking our turns with the last installment, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.  This book was purchased at another midnight party where my daughter and three girlfriends waited anxiously, greeting other school friends and watching the “little kids” in the costume contest.  One of my daughter's friends had a lengthy conversation with a bookstore employee in the guise of Snape, listening as he argued his defense.  Currently, my son is reading the book by day while my husband and I read aloud together at night.  My daughter is waiting to read with me, after she responsibly finishes her school summer reading assignment.  Even as we race through the pages, staying up far too late to read “just one more chapter,”   

I know I will regret finishing the last page and seeing this adventure come to an end. 

My husband and I recently speculated with friends over whether anyone 100 years from now will know who Harry Potter is.  J. K. Rowling is a tremendous storyteller, but not a great writer.  Her books may not endure as literary treasures.  But Harry's story is one I will always treasure.  The boy wizard has stoked the fires of imagination and creativity in children around the world and convinced them a book of over 700 pages is adventurous, not intimidating.  Isn't that truly magical?