Disclaimer: If you are still in the fetal position crying in distress over the ending of Harry Potter saga discontinue reading this post.
Yesterday my lovely friend and I went to view the final chapter of the Harry Potter saga.
Somewhere amidst the Facebook statuses dreading the end of childhood as we know it and the hysterical sobs coming from the stranger seated next to me in the theater I got to pondering on this phenomenon....
I have come to realize this simple fact: I am not a devoted fan of H.P.
Sure, I loved the books... but admittedly didn't join the H.P. crazy-train until the first 4 books had already come out. Go ahead, call me a failure. Alas, I got thinking about this curious incidence. I am not the mythical/magical type, so what got me to enjoy something so fictional? For half the movie I could think of nothing else. My short attention span was not helping in my attempt to relish the end of the Harry Potter legend. There I was, stuck pondering the difference between my lukewarm feelings towards the movie, and the female next to me wiping tears off by the palm-full. Finally it dawned on me. My dad.
Yes! Finally, this is it! My wonderful father is the reason I continued to enjoy H.P. In the beginning he would read the books right after me, then we would spend countless conversations discussing the plots, characters, and possible conspiracies. Later on in the series he ended up reading the books to me at night. I loved H.P. because it was a fun connection with my dad. Unfortunately the movies could not carry on this gusto. I enjoyed the 1st and 4th movies, but the rest I could watch once and be done. Sitting in the theater I realized it was because they simply lacked the fun feeling I got from sharing the experience with my dad.
So while I hope that it was the perfect ending to you childhood or whatever else you were expecting, I will continue on my merry way, unscathed. The movie was fine; nothing particularly special. The ending of Harry Potter does in no way taint my childhood. I loved it, every bit.
Thank you for sharing your love of reading with me, Dad, I love you.
Sure, I loved the books... but admittedly didn't join the H.P. crazy-train until the first 4 books had already come out. Go ahead, call me a failure. Alas, I got thinking about this curious incidence. I am not the mythical/magical type, so what got me to enjoy something so fictional? For half the movie I could think of nothing else. My short attention span was not helping in my attempt to relish the end of the Harry Potter legend. There I was, stuck pondering the difference between my lukewarm feelings towards the movie, and the female next to me wiping tears off by the palm-full. Finally it dawned on me. My dad.
Yes! Finally, this is it! My wonderful father is the reason I continued to enjoy H.P. In the beginning he would read the books right after me, then we would spend countless conversations discussing the plots, characters, and possible conspiracies. Later on in the series he ended up reading the books to me at night. I loved H.P. because it was a fun connection with my dad. Unfortunately the movies could not carry on this gusto. I enjoyed the 1st and 4th movies, but the rest I could watch once and be done. Sitting in the theater I realized it was because they simply lacked the fun feeling I got from sharing the experience with my dad.
So while I hope that it was the perfect ending to you childhood or whatever else you were expecting, I will continue on my merry way, unscathed. The movie was fine; nothing particularly special. The ending of Harry Potter does in no way taint my childhood. I loved it, every bit.
Thank you for sharing your love of reading with me, Dad, I love you.
<3 Living the Dream
-MK
No comments:
Post a Comment