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I remember where I first heard the name Harry Potter. It was in 1999. I was in Miss DeMarco’s 3rd grade class and she was reading us a new book for “reading time”. She wanted to expand our minds and she believed, like most teachers, that reading was the best way to go about this. We all sat around her as she told us about an abused boy on Privet Drive whom had a letter addressed to him but his uncle would never allow him to read it. But for most kids in my class, because they didn’t like reading the story ended there when she stopped reading to us.

But I couldn’t get the story out of my head. I needed to find out what was in the letters that were trying to get to Harry. I needed to know why his uncle and aunt treated him so badly and why they didn’t want him to obtain the letters. There were so many unanswered questions that needed answering. I pestered my parents into buying Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone and I devoured it. I refused to let the book go, I got in trouble at school countless times because I would be reading my book instead of doing my assignments.  When I finished book 1, I knew that I had just read a story that would change the course of my life. This was more than a story, more than a book.