I Believe That My Hogwarts Letter Got Lost in Mail
July 12th, 2007- I spent the night wrapped in a scratchy wool blanket, clutching my father’s watch and waiting for Hagrid to break down the door or for an owl to swoop in with my Hogwarts letter clutched in its talons. I stumbled out of my room the next morning, searching the entire house for the letter, asking my parents beseechingly if they had burned it in the fireplace or boarded up the mailbox so the postman couldn’t deliver my letter. I managed to convince myself that this was my 10th birthday, not my 11th, and that my parents had just forgotten what year I was born in. I believe that my Hogwarts letter was lost in the mail.
I have had my share of miserable days. I have fallen down the stairs, forgotten my homework, gone to school with my shirt on inside out, gotten in fights with my friends, and been behind on a project. There are days when I literally just want to give up, curl up in a ball, and wail like the egg in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. These are the moments when I ask myself WWHD? (What Would Harry Do?)”. After late nights devouring chapter after chapter of all seven books and forcing my father to pull over at a Canadian Tire and fighting a sixty year old for the last copy of The Deathly Hallows, I like to think I have an idea. Harry would pick himself up, dust off his robes, adjust his glasses and get on with his life, believing that tomorrow things will be a little bit better.
I grew up with Harry, Ron and Hermione, and their stories and their decisions keep me going through the all nighters for an assignment that, unknown to me, was even not due, the fights with my parents over my ethical beliefs in the middle of Berkshire Hall, the ten minutes spent in a dank locker with a moldy grapefruit, the failed Latin quizzes, and the days that are downright awful. I remember that tomorrow is another day, and that I will have the chance to sleep, apologize to my parents, throw out the grapefruit, study the pluperfect and start all over again.
When I was eleven, my parents moved my family to boarding school. My parents and my brothers adapted quickly, loving the dining hall, the beautiful environment, and the unique social dynamic. I was drowning- I was moved from sixth grade to seventh grade two months into the school year. I had no interest in my new world- all I wanted was to go back to my old life, and it showed. I kept to myself, never speaking in class, reading a book a day, and ignoring my family. On my first day of seventh grade, my parents had begged me to see it as a second chance. That night, as I lay in my bed reading Harry Potter, I asked myself: WWHD? On my first day of middle school, I stood outside of my English Class, discreetly peering in the window. I saw a group of girls sitting in the front, laughing and smiling. I wanted that- I wanted friends, a life, people I could laugh with. That moment was my Sorting Hat. It showed me that although sixth grade was awful, had a chance to start over, that all hope was not lost and that tomorrow will be a little bit better.
I have to have faith that tomorrow an owl could come swooping into my room, and drop a thick letter of parchment into my lap. Harry Potter persevered through the loss of his parents, his awful childhood, his run ins with Voldemort and came back from death because he believed that no matter how awful today is, tomorrow will always be just a little bit better. I have to be Harry- I have to keep going through the fights with my friends, the failed Latin quizzes, the falling down the stairs, and the embarrassing moments because Harry carried on and ended up saving wizardkind. Who knows? I could be the Chosen One.