When
I was a small child I could not read well. I struggled like no other. Like I
was the captain of the struggle bus. I was the driver and all the passengers.
And because I couldn’t read very well, I struggled in many other areas. I had
to go to a special class every day. A class my school called Title. In this
class I was joined by two boys from my class. Every day I sat in that class and
got extra help on my reading. When I say I struggled and had to go to a special
class, you may think, oh, good, she got help and was able to exit that class in
a short time. You are wrong. I was in Title FOREVER! At least to young Laci, it
seemed like forever. I hated Title. I hated school. And because of all that, I
hated reading. I didn’t read in school or out of school because it was hard.
And because it was hard I was being punished for it and sent to Title. I
remember hating Title, but I don’t remember how much I hated it. it wasn’t
until I’d graduated high school and was working as a summer janitor for my
school that I found my Title folder. In said folder I read notes from my
parents and the Title teacher saying how much I hated it and didn’t want to go
back. The number of notes that said pretty much the same thing, about how much
I hated it, were staggering. And yet I still had to go to Title.
Eventually
I got out of Title. I’m not sure which grade. I at least know I was no longer
in Title when I was in junior high. I could now read at a decent level. I do
know that junior high was definitely the worst time of my entire life. And I’m
not even exaggerating a little. I had been bullied my entire life. So this was
nothing new. What was new was the bullies themselves. The bullies were not only
in my class, but now they were in other classes. I was bullied about everything
from my clothes to the glasses I wore to everything else bullies bully a child
for. And not only was the bullying getting worse, my grades were getting worse.
Now I tell you, I was a bad student to begin with, but I wasn’t the worst. In
junior high I may as well have been the worst. In two years I nearly failed
every one of my classes. There was on class in particular, Nebraska studies,
were I very nearly failed. It was a nightmare. And I remember my mom getting on
me so hard about how bad I was doing. And because I was doing poorly, I hated
everything more. I was moody, emotional, didn’t care about much of anything.
And that included reading. I don’t remember reading anything in junior high. At
all. Not even anything for class.
Then,
the summer between my eight grade and freshman year, when I didn’t have much to
do with myself besides babysit my cousins, my sister hands me the first four
Harry Potter books, because those were the only ones out. Now, I don’t actually
remember reading them, which to this day depresses me, but I emerged from that
summer a new person. I had fallen so deeply in love with Harry Potter and
reading in general. I was in love with everything about Harry Potter. I wasn’t
just in love. I was obsessed. I knew everything about the characters and the
world and Hogwarts and just everything. I had to know everything. But when I’d
finished reading those four Harry Potter books and had to wait for the fifth
book to be published, I needed something else to read. When I started back up
my freshman year of school I started it as an avid reader. I read anything I
could get my hands on. I didn’t know it at the time but I was too young for the
classics, though that didn’t stop me from trying to read them. I tore through
those, but wasn’t satisfied. I tried reading popular tween books like
goosebumps, but wasn’t satisfied. I tried reading a bit of everything, but
wasn’t really satisfied. But at least I was reading, because I needed to read.
But
not only did I become an avid reader, I became a better student. From the time
Harry Potter touched my eyeballs to the time I graduated high school, I had
never gotten a grade below a B. I studied harder, I paid more attention, I
cared more. And I was a better person, a happier person. I got along with my
teachers. I was friends with my teachers. I was no longer bullied. I
participated in more activities.
Every
year after reading the first four Harry Potter books I craved each new book. I
waited the years between books. Every year waiting for a new Harry Potter was
like Harry Potter himself waiting to go back to Hogwarts. I was waiting to go
back to Hogwarts. Harry Potter gave me a home. It gave me friends like myself
who made me feel like I wasn’t such a freak. It gave me hope. It made me happy.
It still makes me happy. The other day I was reading book two while watching
movie five and I had the biggest, stupidest grin on my face that ended up
hurting my cheeks. Because I was so happy.
Harry
Potter is not just a book series. It is not just a love, or an obsession. It
was not just something I could enjoy for a few hours to escape my world. Not to
me. Harry Potter changed my life. It changed my life for the better.
To
this day I read an average of ninety books a year. I am also an author. I owe
all of that to Harry Potter. And to my sister. I’m not sure what her motivation
for handing me Harry Potter was. I’m not sure if she saw me struggling through
life and thought it would help. I’m not sure if she saw an unhappy kid and
thought hey she could use an escape for a little while. I’m not sure if she
just thought I might like them. I’m not sure what motivated her to do it, but
from the bottom of my heart I will never be able to thank her enough for
changing my life. I’m not being even a little over dramatic when I say that JK
Rowling, Harry Potter, and my sister, not only changed my life, but they saved
it.
Always.
