‘The Wizarding World of Harry Potter’ brings back childhood memories

If you stood 50 college-aged students in a room and tried to pick out the Harry Potter fans, I don't think I would immediately jump to mind.

Not to be completely and totally self-centered (for once), but when you think of a die-hard lover of the Potter series, I tend to characterize them as people who buy those Slytherin robes and t-shirts from Hot Topic or who get Dark Mark tattoos—no judgments here if you do.

In my experience, Harry Potter has become the great equalizer in terms of appeal. Most individuals from our age group grew up with Harry Potter in a way that is totally unique to our generation. I remember getting the first book when I was in the fourth grade and staying inside all day on a Saturday (the true sign of commitment) to read it cover to cover, then over again.

When the subsequent books came out, it became a school-wide event to meet up at Barnes and Noble at midnight and talk about what happened the next day at school, or once talking on the phone became the "it" social event of the sixth grade, calling to chat about the plot turns.

As a side note, it was also the most excellent form of sibling bullying ever, because I was always a faster reader than my younger sister— there's no better leverage to a small child than "I'll tell you if Harry survives or not," when arguing over the TV remote.

Getting to go to "The Wizarding World of Harry Potter" at Universal Studios, Orlando let me crack open that chapter of childhood history (minus the semi-sibling rivalry), and let my "Harry Potter" freak-flag fly. I've since grown up from the gangly book- worm with glasses (I was a sight to see, no pun intended) that first picked up the novel and have become, in most respects, a completely normal person by every conventional standard.

To my general surprise, in the crowd of hundreds of people storming the gates of the fake-Hogsmeade baking in the sun of scenic-Orlando, there was just as eclectic a crowd. There were a group of frat guys posing next to the entrance to "The Three Broomsticks," and lining up a point-and-shoot digital camera to accurately frame a poster of Sirius Black.

There were groups of college soccer players on a team trip squeezing into Ollivander's to buy a $30 toy wand (skip this, it's a two-hour wait to get into a gift shop). There were whole families, with four kids in tow, breaking out the checkbook to buy an $11 frozen butterbeer.

Not to get sappy, but besides being a big pain to anyone (and everyone's) checkbook, the most magical part of the Harry Potter theme park was just how magical everyone found it to be. For the price of an inflated park ticket, everyone got to be a gawky, 11-year-old for an afternoon, marveling at the story of a kid, just like them, who found something special in himself. It didn't matter who you grew up to be, but who you were when you picked up "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone."

It was an equalizer in the best possible sense—among many things, "Harry Potter" is all about love and acceptance (spoiler alert, but that's how he beat Voldemort, obviously), and the theme park offered everyone a chance to celebrate something they'd spent a decade enjoying.

I could tell you about how cool the rides were (you get a pep talk from Dumbledore! Of course it's a great time!), or how you'll want to take a picture next to everything (don't bother with the moving paintings, they won't come out when you use your flash), or how, yes, there will be people there wearing over-priced Hogwarts robes (in the 100 degree, humid, Florida sun), but that's not the point of getting a ticket to "The Wizarding World of Harry Potter." The point is to remember how fun it was to pick up a book and wonder what was going to happen on the next page—to feel like an ordinary person surrounded by something extraordinary.

Plus, you can totally send yourself a postcard from there and have it postmarked from Hogsmede, so you can pretend you're getting Hogwarts-style correspondence—not that I would know, or anything I'm clearly not the type.