THERE were some strange books stored in my bedroom at my foster home. One was about the teachings of a yogi. It was probably the only one I couldn’t finish reading.
There was also “The Pinballs”, a novella about three troubled foster kids living in the same home, the Hobbit, and some other novel I cannot remember the name of about some weird Australian kid with a ruby ring who vanished.
I wish I could remember the name of it.
My real family discovered Harry Potter books. I’d seen the posters for The Goblet of Fire, with Harry on a broomstick chased by a dragon, on the shop windows. I didn’t take any notice of them.
Maybe I didn’t think a book about a kid wearing glasses could be cool. I don’t know.
But on an access visit with my family they talked about how good Harry Potter was. I can’t remember who gave it to me but I borrowed The Chamber of Secrets, not realising it was the second in the series. If I knew I probably wouldn’t care anyway. I wasn’t so strict about following series in the proper order back then.
There was a taxi driver who drove me home from school every day. She was getting into Harry Potter as well. We’d both talk about them, and then she gave me a few Harry Potter trading cards.
I didn’t get into them so much because I was already a Pokemon fanatic.
But I desperately needed some enjoyable books so I could withdraw, and Harry Potter were the books to do it.
[Note: While searching for appropriate Harry Potter memes, I found another that was awesome and I just had to share it!