I went to a local community college. Though probably fifteen or more years ago, I still remember my first class: Children’s Literature 101. I love remembering the younger me who read The Boxcar Children, Ellen Tebbits, Nancy Drew, and the like.
I hoped we would have to read the books of my youth in class, although my eyes have a hard time tracking if a book isn’t enlarged, and the Kindle was still a few years away, so I got audio books. No; the first book was one I’d heard of, but didn’t have the slightest desire to read, or listen to. I saw the picture on the box of CDs: a boy with a wand and a cloak. I was filled with doom. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. Have I mentioned how much I hate fantasy? Worst of all, it was a huge box, probably containing eight CDs.
I’m an optimist, often to a fault. How bad could it be? Listening to a story about the orphan with magical powers. I kept thinking how the book wasn’t so bad. Okay, I survived! Though it’s not my favorite book, probably not even in the top 50, but it was definitely not what I was expecting. It’s corny, but I guess things—even fantasy books—deserve a chance.