The Origins of a Fan Boy

There are many - many - stories I could share about my mother. It’s tough to pick just one because not one moment or story defines the relationships between families.

I’m fortunate enough to have such a great relationship with my mum, but many don’t know that she (somewhat unintentionally) ignited my passion for fandoms. Whether it was casually gifting me a DVD of Twilight before Blockbusters ceased to exist, giving me the BBC full-cast radio production of His Dark Materials after the horrendous disappointment of the Golden Compass or watching the pilot episode of The Vampire Diaries in two separate rooms as she recovered from swine flu - shouting her thoughts across the hall between ad breaks.

It was purely by chance that I was introduced to the fandoms that defined my childhood and adolescence - all of which by my mum. This can all be traced back to the early 2000s, when I was given three battered and tattered hardcovers of the first three Harry Potter books.

When I was younger, there wasn’t much else for me to do but read - significantly growing up in a part of London that wasn’t anywhere near wheelchair friendly like what’s expected today. Although I was reading ahead of most people in my class, there wasn’t much in the library at my school to challenge my thirst for reading more complex stories for my age.

My very first attempt to read the Potter books came in the form of my mum - ironically. Admittedly, she struggled with the unusual wording and names but powered through – coming up with her own improvised version of the adventures of Harry Potter. I cannot remember her performance of J. K. Rowling‘s debut novel, but I am confident she deviated a lot from the original material.

As I was so young at the time, I didn’t think much of this AU version of Harry Potter. However, my mum’s victory at fooling me into believing her alternative story was very short. The film adaptation of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone was being released on VHS, and she quickly concluded that I couldn’t go into that film without actually having read the books.

Her solution. She was going to buy me the audiobooks read by Stephen Fry. I’ve mentioned this in a previous Harry Potter-themed story. Still, not many people know how difficult it was to get physical CDs of audiobooks before Audible became a thing. Plus, she had some serious back paddling as she had basically improvised three books on the spot.

This was around the time that I learned I hadn’t actually read the books - which I found more amusing than anything else when my mother’s justification of “It’s coming out on video! He has no idea what it’s even about. Neither do I!”

So, this set in motion a Potter tradition throughout the years. Every birthday or Christmas, I’d receive an audiobook of the series till I had the full set while I read along - eventually reading them totally independently by the time.

But the fandom obsession didn’t stop purely at the books. Nope. Out of eight Potter films, we went to four premieres in London to meet the cast and crew. Here she met people who were hardcore Potter fans and almost every premiere we attended, the heavens open… even on a day in the middle of summer in 2007. Yep, I was almost always drenched by these trips to London due to the weather.

Then came the cinema trips whenever each film came out. This was where she finally understood my enthusiasm for the series and even to this day, she watches the films with the excitement of someone who’s never seen it.

And as I mentioned before, this casual way of introducing me to series - Twilight, The Vampire Diaries, His Dark Materials - continued well into my teenage years. I think she genuinely doesn’t know that my geeky origins were caused because she introduced me to them.

I have many things to be thankful to my mother for, I probably won’t be able to thank her for all of it in my lifetime. However, she gave me one thing that meant so much that even she doesn’t know how much. But I will always appreciate it.

Thank you for giving me a love of stories, Mum.