Many, many years ago, when the worst of the February fatigue of Chicago winters set in, we would (somewhat sheepishly) pull our son Will from elementary/middle school and escape to Mexico for short, five-day get-aways. The flight wasn’t too long, and the sun warmed our hands and hearts. It was good to get away.
We loved the adventure of it, exploring the local flora and fauna of different towns each visit, the food, the beaches, and the vibrant colors everywhere. One time we even caught a celebration in the streets, complete with costumes, passing by our hotel.
In 2002, our annual adventure took us to Ixtapa for the first time, which is a stretch of the Pacific coastline in the Guerrero region. We found an eco-tour, the beauty of Zihuatanejo beaches nearby, and one amazing pub restaurant designed as a treehouse where patrons needed to climb steps and eat and drink among the foliage of the surrounding trees. A tree lover myself, I was beyond enchanted.
Although our favorite breakfast place in Ixtapa was ground-level, we enjoyed sitting outside with coffee and pastries in hand after some huevos, watching people pass us heading to a job or just some fun. And one morning, magic came here, too.
As our server was clearing our dishes, he leaned down and asked Will an unusual question. He asked if he could have his autograph. All three of us looked at each other, puzzled. Then, the server said, “Harry Potter” and repeated it twice, pointing at Will.
It took us a moment to make the connection. When Will wore his glasses, he slightly resembled the beloved Rowling character, although his glasses were more rectangular and not circular like Harry’s.
With four books out by this time, Harry’s adventures had clearly traveled around the world; the most recent being Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.
The server produced a piece of paper, and Will signed it. Soon, there was a line of servers waiting to get “Harry Potter’s” autograph. I remember one server looking closely at the signature and saying, “No, Harry Potter,” and we realized Will had been signing “Will McGauran.”
I completely understood the logic in Will’s choice, but they wanted the character. I don’t think they were looking for Daniel Radcliffe’s real signature either, the young actor who played Harry Potter. (The first movie had just been released that past November.) They wanted the young boy in the stories who attended classes with his best mates at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and who fought Lord Voldemort.
And so, 11-year-old Will scratched off his name on the ones who were interested in changing it, and he signed Harry Potter instead. At one point, he looked at us with a huge grin as if to say, “Can you believe it?” Lightning, or maybe a very special moment, had indeed struck, but luckily, there was no scar left on his forehead.
The line of servers retreated, and they smiled as they walked away, heads down, eyes on the paper, imagining that they had somehow, incongruously, received a signature from Harry. I think they found magic in that piece of paper; I know we felt the moment too.
How cool that Harry Potter’s story was so powerful in connecting that it transcended time and place and country and cultures; even sparking real imagination in Ixtapa that day because of a boy the right age who wore glasses.
I never could prove or disprove that the restaurant we liked so much actually sat in the center of its own small portal of magic. You never know, but I think everyone there was willing to believe.
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