I just finished the Harry Potter book. The first one. What a marvelous read. As I was reading, I kept lamenting that my adult brain inhibited my full enjoyment of it. If only Rowling had been writing when I was a kid. I can say without doubt that I would have would have eaten this up and lusted for more. But as an adult, the constant, overriding knowledge that wizards don't exist prevents me from losing myself, or letting go fully into the story. All the way through, I noted how excited this little bit, or that little bit would have made me as a boy.
Ah magic. Like most kids, it held me spellbound. The Wizard of Oz, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Escape (and Return) to Witch Mountain, Freaky Friday and finally Star Wars all made a huge impact on me. Of course Bewitched was one of my all time fave shows. I used to try so hard, alone in my bedroom, to levitate things, I thought if I could just get the nose twitch right, I could do it.
I haven't shed all my belief in magic. In face, I still think there are a few undiscovered mysteries here on Earth. But a land of wizards and dragons and potions and spells?
No, those beliefs died along with my youth. I miss that naivete.