It feels a lot like I’m six years old and it’s Christmas Eve. Tomorrow night I’ll have the last Harry Potter book in my hands. Way more exciting than an iPhone.
Molly & I read the first Harry Potter in the winter of 1998 on the advice of her mother. We ordered the second and third books from amazon.co.uk because they were available in the UK months before the US release. We’ve picked up every other US copy the day of release. (I remember buying Book 4 at the airport in Portland, Maine. I was visiting family, and Molly wasn’t with me. I knew a book was waiting for me back in Seattle, but I didn’t want to wait. I donated that copy to the library in Rangeley, Maine. I also didn’t immediately tell Molly about it, because we were supposed to read the book together. Well, we’ve now given up that pretense. As the faster reader, and the one who tends to stay up late, I’ll get the first crack at it.)
What’s strange to realize is I’ve spent over a quarter of my life waiting for the next Harry Potter book to come out, and all of that waiting ends in about 28 hours.