Reading Memoir

A Portal to My Life

Lying in bed, curled up against my father’s chest, listening to him reading the words I would one day know by heart. My four-year-old self uncharacteristically quiet. Listening, hearing, loving. Days later, the words of Harry Potter and the Sorcerers Stone would still be ringing in my ears.

“Oh, you may not think I’m pretty,” my dad sang, but I didn’t hear him. I heard the Hogwarts Sorting Hat greeting the new first years, telling them how they’d be sorted.

I sat there for hours, too engrossed to notice how hungry I was, or that I desperately had to go to the bathroom. My dad got up often. Or rather, he tried to get up often, but every time he did, I would whine and cry, begging him to keep reading. So he did. Finally, after Harry and Hermione give Norbert to Charlie, Ron’s brother, my father put the book down.

“Anna, honey,” he started, rubbing the back of his balding head. “I love reading to you, but I can only keep going for so long. We’ll read more tomorrow, OK?”

“But…” I faltered. “I really want to know what happens.”

“I know, tati, but one of the best parts of reading is the suspense.”

“Supspence?”

“Suspense,” he corrected. “It’s when the author makes you want to know something, but doesn’t tell you until later.”

“Oh. Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” he confirmed.

I scanned my bookshelf. It had been two years since my dad had read me the first Harry Potter book, and I was ready to immerse myself the world of Harry Potter once again.

“Ah ha!” I exclaimed. “There it is!”

I reached out and clasped the book in my hands. It felt right to be holding this book, like the book wanted to be read just as much as I wanted to read it.

I sat down on my bed, pulling the covers up tight around me. For a moment, I just sat there, staring at the book. Then I opened the cover and…

“Anna, dinner time!”

“I’m coming!”

I stared down at my book. I was itching to start reading, but I knew my mom would get mad at me if she had to tell me to come in again. So I sighed, and closed the book.

“I’ll be back,” I whispered.

But after dinner, I had to take a bath. And then I realized I had to practice my lines for the play I was in, The Christmas Carol. It was next week, and I was Tiny Tim. So by the time I was done with everything I had to do, my mom was already ushering me into bed.

“It’s a busy day tomorrow, you need to get some sleep.”

In truth, the next day was Friday, which was probably the most relaxed day I had, but I was too young to realize that.

“OK,” I said.

“Did you brush your teeth?”

“Um…”

“Go now,” my mother commanded.

“OK.”

Friday was our day. It was the day my mom and I would do things together, namely, go to the zoo. But today I wasn’t as interested in the animals as I usually was. By the time we’d gotten to the gorillas, my mom new something was up.

“What’s wrong, Anna?” she asked.

“Nothing,” I responded.

She gave me one of her don’t-even-try-lying-I-know-something’s-up looks.

“Well,” I whined, “Nothing is wrong. I just can’t concentrate today.”

“Shoot,” my mom said as she struggled to retie her long brown hair. “Sorry. Why can’t you concentrate?”

“You know how I’m going to read Harry Potter ALL BY MYSELF?” I asked, proudly. “Well, I was just about to start yesterday when you called me in for dinner. And all I can do is think about reading it.”

“In that case, when we get home, I’ll make you a nice hot bath, and then you’re free for the afternoon.”

I was overjoyed. I had been sure my mom would come up with some strange bogus job. She wouldn’t have done it to keep me from reading, she wouldn’t have even known I wanted to read, but that’s just my luck.

“Let’s go home,” I said.

“Don’t you want to see the giraffes?” she begged.

“No, I want to go home.”

“OK.”

My mom was true to her word. As soon as we got home, my mom ran me a bath, which I climbed into immediately. That proved to my mom that I really wanted to read Harry Potter. I hated baths, and would do anything to avoid them. But this time I simply got in and got out. More proof. While I tried to avoid getting into a bath, once I got in I would stay in forever.

I turned on our old fashion heater, which was kind of like a fan, only it let of warmth. I sat there until I was dry. Then I pulled on some underwear and climbed into bed.

“Finally.”

I opened Harry Potter and the Sorcerers Stone to chapter one, The Boy Who Lived.

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much.

Four hours later, my mom walked into the room, only to find me fast asleep, clutching my precious book.

“Anna?” she whispered. She contemplated waking me up to brush my teeth, but then thought better of it.

My mom bent down and kissed my cheek, and pulled the blankets up over me. She tried to pry my book away, but I wouldn’t let go. My subconscious self refused to give up the amazing book I had just read. This book represented my achievement. It was the first real chapter book I had ever read to myself. And boy, had I read it. I had gotten through all 309 pages before finally drifting off to sleep.

With trembling hands, I opened my letter.

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

I was a witch, going to school with Harry. I was the unsung hero of the series, Harry’s twin sister. I would secretly help Harry and his friends overcome their obstacles. I was going to the school of my dreams…

“Anna, wake up. Dragon Tales is on.”

I opened my eyes. In my hand was my book.

“I did it,” I whispered. “I did it!

“Mom, when can I get the next one?”