I was recently criticized for saying that Harry Potter was my favorite book. That’s fine, I’m used to criticism. If I let it get to me, a person with my personality and quirks would be reduced to a tear-sodden fetal position in a dark corner of my bedroom. The person I said this to told me, “Ugh, that so typical. Couldn’t you be more original? And you can’t just say ’Harry Potter’. That’s seven books. It doesn’t count. Don’t you have a favorite one?”

“Nope. I love them all.”

I didn’t press the point and gave him another, less truthful, answer. I had started to explain my choice, but I quickly realized that I simply didn’t have the time. But you know who does have the time? The internet! So I’ll try my best to explain why, despite being seven volumes, Harry Potter is my “favorite book”.

I might as well start at the beginning. The first exposure I ever had to Harry Potter was walking into one of the big bookstore chains (one of the ‘B’ ones- Barnes and Noble or Borders), and seeing Sorcerer’s Stone in a large, flashy display near the entrance. I was around 11 years old at the time; I know this because Harry was 11 too. My mother pointed to the display and said something along the lines of, “Would you be interested in this book? Apparently it’s very popular.”

I asked her what it was about. She replied, “It’s about a young boy who goes to wizard school!”

Now, me being a petulant preteen who was more interested in PlayStation and being cool, rolled my eyes and said, “That sounds stupid, mom. GAWD.”

The matter was dropped, and I sulked throughout the store and retreated to the back where I looked at CDs and board games as I usually did at those 'B’ bookstores.

Not long after, however, Harry Potter mania had fully swept the country and my preteen desire to be cool eventually convinced me that I should give it a try.

To this day, Sorcerer’s Stone is the only Harry Potter book that I own in paperback. I raced through it, fell in love, and shortly after bought Chamber of Secrets. Again, I fell in love.

Odd side note: I bought Chamber of Secrets at the same time as 'N Sync’s “No Strings Attached” album. I can’t listen to that album without being reminded of scenes from the book. In my mind, “Bringin’ Da Noise” was played at Nearly Headless Nick’s deathday party.

Whenever the next books were released, I (read: mommy and daddy) purchased them immediately and read them in record time.

To the outside world, I was a kid who longed to be a wizard and lived vicariously through the Boy who lived. But in the comfort of my room and the privacy of my own head, I was a confused, unhappy child who longed to find a magical place of my own to escape to and belong in a place where I wasn’t the exception, but rather quite ordinary and among unwaveringly supportive friends.

You see, it was around that time that I came to the startling conclusion that I was attracted to other boys and not girls. Like Harry, I knew there was something strange about me, but the rest of the world didn’t understand it and made me feel like a freak. And like any confused young boy, I believed them. And being a pastor’s son, I figured my best option was to pray. That’s right, every night for two years, I attempted to pray the gay away.

Don’t let the douchebags fool you- it doesn’t work. Believe me, I tried. I pleaded to God to change me. And for two years, I thought God was ignoring me.

You see, Harry and I had a lot in common. We both have summer birthdays and didn’t get the attention that a birthday gets you at school. We both had dark hair that, no matter how much our mothers (or aunts) tried, simply could not be tamed. We both felt that we didn’t belong in our own homes, schools, and communities. We were both teased and bullied relentlessly by our peers. We were both outcasts in our own homes. We both longed for something more.

And, while J.K. Rowling stuck to her book-a-year schedule, we were both the same age. Every year, Harry and I celebrated our birthdays and went on an adventure.

J.K. Rowling took her time with the fourth book Goblet of Fire. Fortunately, by that time, I was beyond succumbing to the fact that my homosexuality was simply a part of who I was and I better just get used to lusting after Leonardo DiCaprio (I’ve since gotten over that). Instead, I had grown. I was becoming a confident (if not mercurially hormonal) young man.

Just like Harry.

And on our yearly summer trip to visit my grandmother in Minneapolis, the book came out. I begged my parents to let me get it, and they took me to a small bookstore in Saint Paul. By noon, there were two copies left: one left ransacked by hundreds of eager hands and one slightly hidden and pristine.

Now, I could say that the ransacked one represented the bullied misfit that I was, I commiserated with it, and chose that one for sentimental reasons, but that’s stupid. No, I bought the pristine one. And promptly began reading it in the car over the river and back to grandma’s house. My elders were beyond trying to get me to participate in any further activities that day, and they knew not to try. I retreated to the room I had been assigned, and finished the book in 20 sleepless hours. When people came to check up on me, I hissed like an accosted alley cat.

I ran to the stores the day of release three more times until I had finished the series and discovered the outcomes of the characters I had grown to love and admire. In fact, I was a sophomore in college when Half-Blood Prince came out. I had a hot Swedish foreign exchange boyfriend who played guitar and drove a BMW, I was the secretary for the school’s straight and gay alliance, and I had a cool job tutoring Spanish for wealthy suburban kids.

I had come out all right. I was quite the independent young man. Like Harry.

While I stood in line at the local Barnes and Noble, I was behind a young girl. She saw we were both buying the same book. “I love Harry Potter,” she bounced. And she clung to her fresh copy in a way I couldn’t help but recognize, for I was her age and reading Harry Potter too once. I realized that Harry and I had a lot in common with this girl. It was obvious she wasn’t the queen bee at her school; and, frankly, she struck me as a bit of a Hermione. She wore glasses like Harry and I do. She felt like an outsider like Harry and I do. She longed to escape to a magical world like Harry and I do.

When the seventh and final book Deathly Hallows came out, it found me independent and confident, but emotionally raw. Not long before I bought the book, one of my dearest friends, confidantes, and roommate had died unexpectedly. At the age of 21, her heart stopped in the middle of the night.

I had my birthday in the summer, fought the government’s oppression of love and reason, longed to escape to a world of magic, my dark hair still wouldn’t stay put, I wore glasses that were prone to breaking, and I had just lost one of my closest friends.

Just like Harry.

Harry and I grew together, fought together, and suffered together for over a decade. I was sad to see him go, but I only felt gratitude for the boy who lived. I obediently watched the movies, but tore them apart; I still remain active within Harry Potter internet forums; I got a Pottermore account; and I still reread the books to this day when I’m feeling maudlin. It brings back the magic I originally felt, but an element is missing. I’m no longer the young outcast I once was. Now it’s just a story, albeit a really good one. I love escaping through The Three Broomsticks every now and then, but I no longer need to. I read a chapter or two before I go to bed. I’m afraid I just don’t have the time or energy for another 20-hour marathon.

Today I’m proud to be me. I have a job, I have an amazing support system of friends, and I’m happy to say I helped fight the recent marriage amendment in Minnesota with a resounding Expelliarmus. And I simply don’t know where I’d be if Harry Potter hadn’t been there with me along the way.

During the most difficult years of my life, I wasn’t alone. And Harry gave me the tools I needed to make it through.

And that’s why Harry Potter is my favorite book. Even if there are seven of them, it totally counts.