I am Harry Potter

After reading the news today I came to the conclusion that I, Scott Moses, want to be Harry Potter. I want to be a student at Hogwarts; I want a magic wand and a pet owl; and I want to fly around on a broom and play Quidditch all day long. I’m not asking for world peace, a cure for AIDS or a solution to world hunger, I just want to be a prepubescent wizard. Is that so much to ask for?

Instead of worrying about imminent world destruction due to international politics and nuclear arms races, I want to worry about making it to my Herbology class on time or making it onto platform 93/4 before the train leaves or remembering where I put my invisibility cloak. I want to wake up in the morning, put on my Gryffindor colors and run off to a Quidditch match against Slytherin. I want to zoom and zip around the clouds, listening to the distant cheers of my friends jumping up and down in the stands, and I want to catch the Golden Snitch.

Instead of an entire population of overweight, materialistic, Zoloft addicts, I want to be surrounded by a giant named Hagrid, a kind professor named Dumbledore and my friends Ron and Hermione. I want to sneak out of bed at night and run around the enchanted grounds of Hogwarts. I want to discover secret passageways and magical mirrors. I want to attend nearly headless Nick’s deathday party. I want to discover forbidden books in the restricted section of the school library. I want to play wizard’s chess during recess, and I want to be able to talk to snakes.

Instead of fighting lunatic leaders in Iraq and North Korea, I want to conquer Lord Voldemort. I want to use my brains and courage and the help of my friends to rescue the sorcerer’s stone and discover the chamber of secrets. I want to fight a giant serpent and be saved by a phoenix, fresh from the ashes. I want to wake up in the infirmary, surrounded by candy and cards and professor Dumbledore.

I want to know that I saved the day and that there is nothing to worry about, at least until next year. I want to see Ron and Hermione smiling and unpetrified, ecstatic to see me and ready to win the house cup again. I want to be a hero.

Most of all, I want to be saved. I don’t want to be drugged or brainwashed; I don’t want to be tricked or given a lobotomy. I just want to wake up one morning and have everything perfect. I want to look out of the window and see fresh snow covering the ground. I want to wake up to a roaring fire and a feast of all my favorite things. I want to feel at home. I don’t want to be perfect, and I don’t want the world around me to be perfect, I just want everything to feel like it fits. I want the Weasley boys to tear down the metal bars outside my window and to steal me away in their flying car. I want to be taken away from this place of sad, lonely Muggles, this postmodern landscape of hopeless, godless souls trapped in unwanted bodies. I want to be happy, truly happy.

But I am Harry Potter, as least every once in a while (without the magic of course). Everything does fit from time to time.

I, like many of you, I suspect, overlook those precious moments of perfection, those special instances of true happiness. We forget that we can make our lives magical. We can be surrounded by people we love. We can save the day for somebody else.

With practice, we can be happy. It’s hard, though, when the newspapers look the way they do. It’s hard to believe in Harry Potter when the world is falling apart before our eyes, when the ice caps are melting away and the forests are being chopped, burned and smothered by industry.

It’s hard to believe in perfect days when so many of our days are not. But moments, even days, even weeks of happiness come along from time to time – when we find our magic wand and our Nimbus 2000, when we catch the Golden Snitch and we are the hero of the day.