Thank you, J.K. Rowling, for my childhood. Thank you for the fights my brother and I had over who got to read "Order of The Phoenix" first, the tears over beloved characters and the suspenseful waits between book releases.

I am twenty-three now and I still remember what it was like to read the first book for the very first time. I was almost nine and very excited to start because my parents had made me wait until then to start reading them. It was 2001 then, the same year the first Harry Potter movie came out. I cried because my mom wouldn’t let me go see the premier because it was too late at night, and then I didn't speak to my brother for a few days because he got to go see it at midnight with his friends (he was eleven).

So, having finally gotten my grubby little hands on "Sorcerer’s Stone," I plunked myself down on the sofa in the living room and started reading. I tore through the first book in a day, only taking a break when Mom yelled at me to come eat dinner.

September 11 happened, I was scared and worried about the world. Osama Bin Laden seemed like a very bad man, but my brother told me that Voldemort was scarier. (I’m not sure how that was supposed to make me feel better, honestly.)

After reading the second and third books, my nine-year-old mind immediately started pairing Ron and Hermione. It only added further evidence to my theorem that girls were much smarter than boys.

The summer before fourth grade my family took a long road trip to North Carolina for a family church camp. Mom put "Goblet of Fire" in my hands—she’d made me wait til now to read it, knowing it would keep me occupied for nearly the whole ride—and smiled as I immediately opened the book.

They had to make me get out of the car at rest stops, and I would protest because I just had to know what happened next. When the book was finished, I sat back and groaned dramatically, “How am I ever gonna wait ‘til book five!?”

The years passed and I went to see "Prisoner of Azkaban" in theaters when I was in fifth grade with my whole family. When the fifth book finally came out, my brother and I bickered in the car on the way back from the bookstore about who would get it first. At last, my long-suffering mother turned around and said, “If you two don’t stop, I’ll just read it first.”

Ben and I agreed that was much worse than waiting, and so I got the book first, promising that he would get to read book six first when it came out.

I cried when (spoiler alert) Sirius died.

Right after sixth grade, the sixth book came out. I had just gotten braces and was going through awkward growth spurts. The promise of a new Harry Potter book helped me overlook the weirdness of puberty. True to my word, Ben got to read it first. Well, some of it; I stole it from his room and started reading it.

I burst into tears when Dumbledore (spoiler) died, since he was, you know, one of the main protagonists of the series.

I remember going into seventh grade and all my new friends and I could talk about was Harry Potter and how awesome it was. We went to see "Goblet of Fire" in November for my birthday.

Finally, in 2007, just before my freshman year of high school, the fifth movie came out and my brother and I went to see it with Mom and Dad.

"Deathly Hallows" came out around that time, too, and once again Ben and I fought over who got to read it first. I was 14 and he was 17, going into his senior year of high school. I got to read it first, and I cried at every single death; I remember yelling “NOOOOOO!” when Harry 'died’.

I went to see each movie in theaters from then on, and I still remember the excitement of sitting there, wondering how they would portray the book on screen.

Harry Potter was a legendary phenomenon, and will continue to be. I plan to read the books to my children and show them the movies when they are old enough.

I truly grew up with the books as a part of my childhood, and that is an immeasurable treasure.

Thank you, J.K. Rowling, for my childhood.