No, Facebook. You don’t get this one. I will not condense the moment into a status update that will be lost forever one day. This one goes to the Sift, where it will stay preserved. Cherished.
Last night, I finished reading Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone with Czarina and HeroBoy. We stayed up forty-five minutes past bedtime, because I just couldn’t leave them hanging. I couldn’t let them go to sleep with Harry on the very edge of success or disaster- with Voldemort moving in the shadows… I couldn’t be that cruel.
So we stayed up, and I read, using my most theatrical voice, my most dramatic telling– painting a picture in their mind. As I read, I watched them listening- and it was delicious. Utterly gratifying. They were enthralled, eyes wide and shiny- barely able to stand the anticipation of what was to come next. I hid my smile as Czarina covered her face, as HeroBoy stared at the book as if he could will Harry to succeed by the sheer force of his concentration.
I weaved the story ’round them, watching it take hold.
They’ve come to love the story. Not just Harry’s story… but the story. The one that every reader goes in pursuit of when they pick up a book. They have been drawn in to a world, in to their imagination, in to characters they can love or hate… They know what it is to feel a book deep down in their bones now.
So, no, Facebook. You don’t get this one. It’s too big. My children and I have communed, sharing a moment that I hope will be repeated many times through the years. We sought the story, and found it.
We were enchanted together, and that is the best kind of magic of all.