Dorks Reset- a rerun from the old blog

So, Ok, The night the last Harry Potter book came out, I stood in line with the other Nerds to get my pre ordered book at midnight. I went home and read until 5:20am. Slept off and on till 8, went with the kids to Lebanon, Ohio where we rode the “Hogwarts Express”, went home and made dinner, read until I finished the book at 4:30am, slept a couple of hours, managed to not fall asleep during church, ate lunch, took my kids ice skating, then hit the wall about 6o’clock Sunday night. Why would I, a 32-year-old person with two kids do this to myself? Why is the fate of “the boy who lived” so important to me?
Truthfully, it is only to save my family from ridicule and embarrassment that I refrain from donning official licensed Gryffindor attire or have a Firebolt replica on the wall. God help me if I were single and wealthy. There would be a room for every Disney, Tolkien, Rowling or Neverland fantastical environment.
As a little girl, I remember clicking my heals together 3 times hoping I would be transported to my “real” home, because, surely, THIS couldn’t be it. But even now, I admit, I have to resist the temptation to feel the back of the coat closet and secretly hope it’s not there, or tap the five bricks in the right sequence with my pink umbrella in anticipation of them opening to reveal Diagon Alley, or press on the bathroom mirror to gain access to a nonsensical world.
Many would think I’m a dreamer, seeking an escape from my mundane suburban life, but you would be incorrect. I’m the most blessed person I know. My husband’s a stud, my kids are amazing and each day brings a new adventure. Yet, a place inside of me still wonders if I ran through the train station barrier, would there be the teeniest chance I would end up at Platform 9 3/4 instead of the ER.
And I know I’m not alone. I wasn’t the only childless mom in line that night to get a book; and sold-out midnight showings of Star Wars and Lord Of The Rings are attended by thousands who dropped the kids at Grandma’s for the night and have to get up and go to work in the morning.
Why the fascination?
M.Hale’s book, Beautiful Girlhood, a literary staple to many young girls in the early 20th century, discourages the reading of fantastic fiction and fairy stories for fear the head will dwell on unrealistic ideas instead of being a diligent and serious woman with aspirations of being a good wife and mother. Many cultures have tried to keep young people from dreaming or imagining, encouraging practicality, but the “imaginary world” spirit universally endures. It seems to be instinctive, just part of who we are. Could it be that our “Inner Dufus” is divinely inspired?
I believe there’s a part of us, as spiritual beings that know we don’t belong here. We feel like a square pegs in round holes because we are. Our spirit longs for the place which defies physical laws and where we are constantly in the presence of greatness and perfection. The universal struggle of good/evil, Jedi/Sith, White Witch/Aslan, is happening now all around us and we’re part of it in our “ordinary” lives, and we’re drawn to it, though we don’t see it. Perhaps the dorky dreamers are not trying to escape reality, but truly sense the bigger picture. Or, maybe we’re just dorks.