Seeing as it’s nearly Christmas, I want to tell a little Christmas story. (Don’t worry, it’s not one I’ve written.)
It’s about the time I got a little purple book for Christmas, from my aunt – and I’m hoping I can encourage the lot of you to buy books for people for Christmas. (If celebrating Christmas and purchasing material obligations disguised as gifts is a thing you’re into).
Now, I was young when this happened, but not very young. I’d been reading for quite a while, so this isn’t about the first book I ever got or anything like that. I grew up reading quite a lot of books – yet I never thought that I was a particularly bookish child. I assumed everyone read books, just like everyone went outside to play, or how everyone watched TV.
I’d read pretty much everything, comic books, books I picked out from the library, or my parents books (until they found out and took them away from me). I remember at one point I even wrote my own comic books.
So this little purple book wasn’t my first, it wasn’t the one that taught me to read, or the one I loved the most – but it’s an important book nonetheless.
To begin with I absolutely hated it. I remember my aunt saying she was hoping I would absolutely love it – she’d heard so many great things about, yet I couldn’t stand it.
I started it countless times. Over and over again, I read it from the beginning, but could just never get more than a few chapters in before I put it away and forgot about it for months. So whenever I picked it up again – I had to start anew.
It was furiating I remember, because I wanted to read it. I wanted it to be done with (I’m like that with quite a few things, stuff have to be finished to be put away), and this book was just lying there on my nightstand, mocking me every single night.
Why was it so awful? I don’t know, I just couldn’t get into it, it was boring, dull, didn’t lead anywhere.
But I needed to read it. My aunt kept asking if I’d liked it. I kept saying I hadn’t finished it.
I can’t remember how long it had been after that one Christmas before I actually read it. It could have been years for all I rememberred, but regardless, it was quite a while.
Then I finally read it. I finished it all, and quickly as well (if I recall). It was amazing. Once I got past those parts I’d hated before, I loved it. And I remember feeling like that was a different kind of book. It taught me something about how good a good book can be. And what it can do to you – especially at a young age. For I’d been going around hating this book for so long, and then finally reading it, I loved books even more. I bought more books, borrowed more books, and read more books – all thanks to this one little purple book that I’d hated. And I’m very thankful to have that Christmas memory of this book with me today.
That book was Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone. (And that’s an alright book, isn’t it?)
And because of that memory, I’ll keep buying books for my nephews and nieces whenever I can – maybe one of my gifts will be a little purple book in their life.