I must have been about nine years old when it started.
My mom, who didn’t realize there were three other books, purchased the fourth Harry Potter book for me. It was a gift, for my birthday I believe.
At nine years old receiving Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire as a gift would seem dull or alarming. Depending on your view of books I suppose. According to my mother, I’d always loved listening to her read stories to me and read what I could. Up to this point I’d owned every single Little Golden Book that existed in the nineties, along with the classics such as Charlotte’s Web, and The Secret Garden. I wasn’t new to reading, but this was going to start a whole new chapter in my reading life, and I knew it. This was different, this was a “big kid” book. I finished the book quickly and begged my mother to find the first three books for me since I’d realized I started off on the wrong one. Harry Potter turned the little sparks of love I’d felt for reading into a full grown bonfire of passion.
I’m very thankful for my mother for buying that first book for me. I’d have my life no other way. As a library assistant, I’m surrounded by books all day. They are a big part of my life.
My first love, and my escape from reality.