Sharing a Birthday with The Boy Who Lived

I love Harry Potter, I really do. Back when I was a wee 19 year old, I was at my cottage and somehow completely out of books to read. My far younger cousin, knowing my tendency to read young adult novels because SCREW ADULTHOOD, approached me with the first of the then incomplete book series.

“Sure, why not”, I told my cousin, “It’s better than staring at minnows”. I opened the book and began to read.

Five hours later, I was knocking on her door. Where were the rest of the books, and who did I have to murder to get at them?

I will Avada Kedavra your ass!

That might have been a bit harsh to say to a ten year old, but hey, the books were really good. I was hooked. Hogwarts was my dream school, full of adventures I craved. And lo and behold, it turns out that Harry and I share the same birthday: July 31^st.

You’d think that would make me happy. And at first, it did.

“THAT’S JUST LIKE ME!” I shouted out loud to the great concern of my family. I didn’t care. Harry and I? We had a connection now. It made me feel special.

I stopped short of drawing a lightning bolt on my forehead though…

But then Harry Potter exploded in popularity. And every year, as my birthday approached, I would always get the same comment from my fellow nerds: “Hey! You share Harry Potter’s birthday!” or when asking when my birthday was would respond “Oh, same as Harry Potter’s, got it”.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not one of those people who normally gets sensitive about their birthdays. In fact, I often go out of my way to make sure it’s as low key as possible. But it began to overshadow my life. Eventually I just became “The girl with the Harry Potter birthday”.

Maybe not as bad as “That ginger who’s friends with Harry”

Well, no, I would say, he technically shares MY birthday. And I would cling to that fact.

Except you nerds wouldn’t let me have it, would you?

No, you had to go and nerd out and do your research and inform me that well, no, technically Harry was actually born in 1980, a full three years before me. So really, I share HIS birthday.

Maybe so, but he’s FICTIONAL! I would respond. But J.K. Rowling is not. And she’s older than me, which means that really, I share her birthday too. Fine, that’s fine, I would say. So why don’t you just say “Oh, you share a birthday with J.K. Rowling?”

Because Harry Potter is awesome, would be the response. At which point I would begin to twitch.

Much like this guy

Is this how Hermione felt? Or even more, Ron? Was I doomed to live in the shadow of the fictional Boy Who Lived? I mean, just look at that nickname! How could I live up to that image? My only nickname at the time was Poodle Hair for horrible high school haircut reasons. Suddenly Harry began to annoy me, and not just because of his Book 5 emo.

But I have learned to live with my shared birthday status much like someone learns to live with grey hair: it will always be there, so I might as well embrace it. And embrace it I do. At the very least, it means that more people remember my birthday and hey, there are worse things than sharing a birthday with a wizard. I could share it with Jesus. Poor Christmas babies.

Disgruntled for life

They will never win. So Happy Birthday, Mr. Potter. If you’re nice, I might share my cake with you. And in return, maybe you could share some Butterbeer, because seriously, that looked awesome!