Harry in Harlem

Okay, I’ll admit it. I’ve ridden the Harry Potter wave from the Thames to Timbuctu. I’ve celebrated book releases with so many midnight rides, I still scream one if by land, two if by sea when I climb into the Kia. I’ve worn graduation gowns turned wizard’s robes and painted more lightning bolts on the kids than you find pictures on cave walls.

I can’t help thinking we would have taken care of Harry Potter’s pesky bad guy a little quicker if He Who Shall Not Be Spammed had popped up here in the colonies. Let him get a taste of The Big Apple, and Lord V might just end up squealing like a Lady. If his little turban hopping habit landed him on the wrong head in New York and he ended up bleached, braided, and mohawked, there’s not a stylist in the world that could return him to the man he was.

And I’d like to see those Dementors float into Harlem. One try at a Kiss of Death with a gangland switchblade and they’d be begging for admission to a Happy Place. Don’t even ask about the hubcap implant they need removed or the need for free dental care. They’ll just have to wait for the new health plan like everybody else.

Now let’s talk mythical creatures. There’s folks lying in the alley out back of Times Square who have first hand knowledge of flying elephants. Dragons don’t put out much of a scare factor to folks who ride Screaming Meanies every day of their lives.

Most important of all is the knowledge that the minute His Badness was spotted floating free-form around the No-Fly Zone, the White House would have authorized an 8 ½ x 11 family portrait suitable for framing and a sprinkling of F-16s to scramble as an escort to a Location of Interest.

Don’t make us call in Iron Man.

Or the Incredible Hulk

Or the Ghost Busters.

Yep, get Bill Murray and his ghost gathering gang on the job and we'll see how much the Evil One can do after he’s sucked into the business end of a Dirt Devil. And once you’ve been slimed in New York, it doesn’t take seven books and a flying broom to figure out your haunting days are numbered.

So as much as I’ve enjoyed the action and suspense of wizarding a young man through the throes of pubescence and delivered him at the door of his destiny, I’ve got scarier things to think about.

I’ve got teenagers of my own. And no magic potion to give me all the answers.