I've spent weeks trying to figure out exactly how and what I wanted to say with this post, because its subject is really important to me. It wasn't until Friday when I was home visiting my parents, and was flipping through the newly-arrived copy of
Dear Mr. Potter that everything just seemed to click and I knew how I was going to present the subject matter that had been bouncing around my brain for weeks.
Dear Mr. Potter is a fan compilation of letters, stories, and photographs submitted by Harry Potter fans from around the world. The letters are addressed to Harry, Hermione, Ron, other characters, and also to J.K. Rowling herself, and they vary in presentation. Flipping through the book was an emotional experience; seeing others' takes on the experiences provided by the series were poignant beyond explanation. The last two pages of the book are left almost completely blank; on the left had page, there is a header declaring "Dear Mr. Potter", followed by "Love, ___________" down at the bottom. On the right, there is a blank rectangle of white just big enough for a picture.
I looked at my dad when I discovered what it was. "They've left you a page for you to put your own letter there," I said, and ran out of the room to cry. In the words of the Beatles, it's all too much.
And so, without further ado, here is my own "Dear Mr. Potter" letter. (I apologize if it seems a little jumbled; this is something that I'm having a hard time putting into words.)
Dear Mr. Potter and J.K. Rowling,
You know I have never had much confidence in myself. A girl I was friends with in third and fourth grade told me once, "Why would you want to be in the audience when you can be center stage?". It was clear from her words that who I was would never cut it, and so from that point on I tried to live up to her--and then everyone else's--expectations.
I wanted the kinds of clothes the popular kids wore. I listened to what the other girls in Girl Scouts listened to, because they told me that the Beatles and Blur were not the cool thing to listen to--and so I didn't bring my love for them up around the others. I wanted to wear makeup and have a boyfriend just like my friends did in junior high, even though my parents wouldn't let me date until I was 16. I cussed because that's what everyone else was doing when the teachers weren't in earshot. I wanted to see
Titanic and
Austen Powers just like everyone else had so that maybe, just maybe, they'd like me more. I didn't like showing my art or writing to anyone, because it seemed that every time I did, I was criticized for it.
In high school, I began to grow bitter of this habit I'd gotten myself into. I was too fat to fit into the kinds of jeans the other girls wore, and I could not understand why I couldn't fit in with the popular crowd, and by that time I'd given up. I felt like I could never be accepted by anyone because I could never be what they wanted me to be. And so I shrunk back into the shadows, alone, reading and writing and listening to music I wanted to and dreaming of the kind of adolescence I wanted to have.
I first read the
Harry Potter books as a sixth grader in 1999-2000. They were--and still are--my pick-me-up, my inspiration, my escape. When life grew more and more complicated, I clung closer to the stories, losing myself in Hogwarts and the adventures the trio had. When
Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix came out in 2003 I was fifteen, and never had I ever connected so permanently to a book. There was Tonks, who seemed so
cool to me and Luna, a character whom I could never explain fully how much she means to me, as well as so many other things that I resonated with. As I was reading the book, I finally began to realize fully how important they were to me as a person--
this was why I kept coming back to them. I felt like I could be
me when I was in Harry's world--because the real world didn't seem to like the real me, and at that point, I wasn't sure who the real me was.
All throughout high school, I tried to convince myself I was a Gryffindor--or, at least, a Ravenclaw. I didn't want to be a Slytherin because they were "shady types" (what I thought at the time, anyway), and for a long time I thought Hufflepuff would be a waste of time--weren't they "duffers" (PS, 61)? The house that everyone wanted to be in was Gryffindor, and I wanted so badly to have courage enough to be a part of it. I took the quizzes online, and I would always end up with Hufflepuff, much to my dismay. Surely that was incorrect.
When I got to college, however, my perspective began to change. I didn't feel the pressure anymore to live up to everyone's expectations; and I found people who seemed to like me for who I was, and slowly but surely I began piecing together who I was. When
Deathly Hallows was released in 2007, I had begun to realize fully what each house stood for. Just because someone was in Slytherin didn't mean they were bad--Slughorn is one example, my roommate Emma is another. I didn't feel I exuded the kind of cleverness and smarts that Ravenclaw required--though I had for a long time wanted to be in the same house as Luna. I wanted to be like her in any way I could. I began to accept that Gryffindor did not fully describe me, either; my self-confidence had since elementary school been non-existent, and so for a long time, I had no courage I felt was worthy enough. (I did, however, feel that the more I started to embrace who I was as a person, the braver I felt--though I yet have a long way to go.) Plus, I realize now what Dumbledore points out very early in the series, something I read first as a sixth grader but didn't grasp until much later: "There are all kinds of courage" (PS 221).
It wasn't until about three years ago I began accepting that I was a Hufflepuff. It just made sense. And best of all, I was okay with it, because it felt like home to me. The Sorting Hat describes them as those who "are just and loyal/Those patient Hufflepuffs are true/And unafraid of toil" (PS 88). It wasn't that I settled for it--I had been one all along. I felt, finally, that it was part of the real me.
As I was sitting in the theatre early Friday morning, watching the
gorgeous, amazing, wonderful scene with Harry and Dumbledore in King's Cross, soaking in every emotion, I thought a lot about the impact this series has had on my life. Harry Potter came into my life at just the right time. It was a constant in the intensity and turbulence I felt getting through junior high and high school; a reminder that it was okay to be who I was, it was okay to dream and imagine, because that is part of what makes us who we are. Perhaps if I'd never had read the series, I'd still be trying to please others, trying to be that person center stage, and growing ever more discouraged that I didn't seem to be doing enough. I know I'm not fully over my insecurities, but I know I'm slowly getting there. I may not be a Gryffindor, but with Harry's journey, I realized that I had the courage to accept myself: I am a writer, I am an artist, I am a friend. I possess many facets that make up who I am. I am Heather, and a Hufflepuff. For this last release, I wore my brand new Hufflepuff tie, and went simply as me.
So thank you, Mr. Potter and Jo. I cannot tell you enough how much it means to me what you've given me, how much you've inspired me. You've taught and given me many things, but this, perhaps, is the most important. Thank you for being part of my childhood and adolescence, but most of all, thank you for helping me to realize how cool being me is.
With much love,
Heather
