By Maggie Aschmeyer | Deputy Editor
When I was in seventh grade, my teacher gave an assignment that most middle-schoolers would consider cruel and unusual punishment: a personal speech that would be performed in front of the whole class. Terrifying, I know. I, however, was an incredibly self-absorbed tween, so I was actually excited to get seven to ten pages to blab on about myself as much as I wanted. But after I heard the kids slotted to go before me read their speeches, it became apparent that, in comparison to my peers, I was not interesting.
Everyone else had a theme to frame their speech around, like a love of horses, or a difficult, life-altering experience. Yet, my family wasn’t rich enough to own a horse, and I hadn’t had any major traumas. This was, of course, great and ideal, but 12-year-old me thought it was terribly inconvenient for my writing. I also didn’t have any notable talents or cool after-school hobbies. So what was I going to talk about? The karate class I had signed up for and then and promptly quit because I quickly realized it hurt to get punched? The surprising (although, not really since I’d forgotten to feed her) death of my goldfish? I was completely at a loss. Then, in a brilliant moment of insight, I realized that I did in fact have one special interest that meant a great deal to me. It was the only thing on this earth thing I truly loved as much as my cats and cheeseburgers: Harry Potter.
I decided to frame my speech around all things the-boy-who-lived. I told everyone I was a Hufflepuff, that my favorite character was Hermione, and that my boggart would be one of these scary zombie things from an episode of Doctor Who that I should never have been allowed to watch (“Waters of Mars” - it’s freakin’ terrifying y’all). I talked about how going to the Wizarding World of Harry PotterTM was the best day of my life and then described my visit to said World in great detail, which, I’m sure, enthralled all my classmates. I even dressed up for the occasion, coming to school in Gryffindor robes and round glasses with a wand in my pocket and a stuffed ginger cat under my arm. There may have also been sound effects. And mood lighting. In any case, my audience was certainly in for… something.
Every time I go back and reread that speech (sometimes even just thinking about it is enough), I usually end up banging my head against the nearest hard surface. My syntax was awful, I didn’t know how to spell properly, and I remember thinking that telling everyone my favorite color was blue would let them know that I was not like other girls. However, while the speech itself was objectively bad, and I mean bad, I find that I don’t regret the manner in which I went about introducing myself. This is partially because I am nearly just as fixated on Harry Potter as I was then, but it’s also because I realize that HP was a healthy and easy way for my adolescent self to find some sort of identity during a time when I, and certainly none of my classmates, knew what the heck was going on.
Look, to put it simply, Harry Potter was (and still is) my anchor, and I don’t think that’s a bad thing. Whenever I needed a conversation topic or just a place to daydream about for a little while, I always had Hogwarts to fall back on. And I know this is silly, but identifying with a Hogwarts house gave me a sense of identity when I felt completely void of it. If I was a Hufflepuff, then that meant no matter what weird personality quirk I decided to develop that week, I would at least try to be honest and kind.
So why am I telling you this? Well, I think this is more for myself than for anyone else; I’m trying to figure out why I’ve still got some of the same habits and interests I had when I was 12 years old, such as a tendency to over invest myself in fiction and spend too much brain power on a book series that is technically meant for children. I mean, I’m in college; shouldn’t I be over it by now? I think the answer is both yes and no. Yes, I shouldn’t let it control every aspect of my personality like I did when I was in middle school, as I have actual responsibilities now. The world is also literally on fire and we have children in cages at the border, so there are more important things to focus on besides the tragedy of the Battle of Hogwarts. And maybe I should try to cut down on the number of times I let Harry infiltrate the everyday, but I’m also a firm believer in just letting people enjoy things as long as it isn’t a detriment to others.
Look, I’m probably one of the luckiest people I know: I’m healthy, I can afford to go to college, and I have a loving family. But something I’m realizing more and more each day is that life is just really hard. And if I, a person who has nearly every advantage, thinks that life is hard, then I can’t imagine how hard it must be for people less fortunate than myself. So if I and every other person who has bad days wants to escape into their favorite fictional world every once and awhile, whether it be Star Wars or Lord of the Rings, who are we to judge? I would rather love something trivial to the point of insanity then ever feel apathetic towards the sillier parts of life. The fact of the matter is that Harry Potter makes me incredibly happy, and that’s enough for me. Maybe one day I’ll go and develop enough personality to talk about something else, but until then, Hogwarts will always be there for those who need it.
Comments