Thirty years ago today, Harry Potter was born to Lily and James in Godric's Hollow.
I met him ten years ago around Christmas time. He was hiding in my parents' closet behind a pile of presents, and I found him one day when my parents were out of the house. We used to sit in the closet for hours and he would tell me all about his first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Although I would never admit it to him, I was more than a little obsessed with him. I waited anxiously for the end of July...into August...but by September the 1st, I had to admit it: my acceptance letter to Hogwarts was not coming.* I was devastated. But instead of giving up in despair over the fact that I would never be anything but a silly Muggle, I became the ultimate Harry Potter fan!** I think that if we all go to a personal afterlife when we die, mine will be Harry Potter's world, where I will be Hermione and get married to Ron (I LOVE RON.) and send blogs to the interwebs by owl.
Nowadays, Harry is Head of the Department of Aurors, married with three children, and life is back to normal--or as normal as it can be for a wizard--after the thrilling defeat of Lord Voldemort in '98.
So HIP, HIP, HOORAY and HAPPY BIRTHDAY to The Boy Who Lived!
*Yeah, I was one of those weird kids who really believed I was a witch. I used to take out the trash at night and bring the broom with me so I could practice trying to fly in the side yard. I still am not entirely certain that Harry & Co. are actually fictional.
**My friends went to The Wizarding World of Harry Potter recently and brought me back a wand. "Magic is real!" I squealed when they gave it to me. They laughed, but I don't think they realized just how much they were enabling my delusions. More on that later.