By now, we all know that the final installment of the Harry Potter series will make its debut at midnight on Friday. (And if you didn’t know that, then…well, you must actually be a rock, not just living under one.)
I don’t have anything hugely profound to add about this, other than to share a conversation I had earlier today at a coffee shop with my dear friend, Jay. (You all know him, right?)
He asked me if I wanted to volunteer with him at Barnes & Noble on Friday.
“No,” I said politely as I scarfed down his cookie.
“Okay, then you should at least come to the bookstore that night,” he said as he slid the remainder of his cookie into his backpack.
I tried to explain that my husband has to work that night, that I have a five-year-old to take care of, that I have dishes and laundry to do, and that if I thought of any more excuses, I would let him know what they were.
Jay then proceeded to explain to me that Friday night is no ordinary night. It’s a historical night. It’s the beginning of the end of something magical that happened…and it happened to a children’s book writer. (Jay continued his lecture, despite me eyeballing the cookie belonging to the guy next to us.) He said that being there for the moment when kids (and adults!) get their hands on their last Harry Potter book will be like no moment we'll get to experience ever again. He reminded me that, as a children’s author, and out of respect for all that is good about children’s literature, I need to be there. It is my duty.
Of course, I saluted him. Then I told him he had something on his shirt and snatched the cookie from his backpack.
As I was running away from him, I thought, You know, maybe he’s right. It is my duty. I can come up with excuses another day. I should be present for the event that represents everything good and right about children’s literature!
So thanks for the lecture, Jay. But seriously, you did have something on your shirt.
What about you all? Will you be at a bookstore on Friday night?