Guest Post Disclaimer:
The slightly anti-Harry Potter feelings expressed in this post in no way reflect the feelings of the spouse of the guest post writer. (In other words, me.) And I am pretty sure they do not reflect the actual feelings of Miss 8 toward Harry Potter. (who incidentally has been restricted to rereading Harry Potter books only one day a week. Which is the actual reason she has time to read Hardy Boys. But I am not sure My Dear Husband is even aware of said restriction. . . . . )
In the era of the iphone (we are on the fourth version within X? years) it is hard to think of something that crosses and endures over generations. Recently something has crossed that fourth generation in our family.
The Hardy Boys.
For those of you who have missed out for the last eighty years, the Hardy Boys are mystery novels about two brothers, Frank and Joe Hardy. They live in New England with their Father Fenton Hardy (a national known detective) and their Mother, Laura. With their friends Biff and Chet (and occasionally their girlfriends) they encounter adventures and questions which inevitably lead them to a mystery.
Before there was the Mystery Van and Scooby Snacks, there were the Hardy Boys.
Written in the twenties and thirties, there were some “new” adventures written in the 1980s and early 1990s under the “Hardy Boys: Case Files,” but the “Case Files” are not as timeless as the original stories.
Recently Miss 8 has put down Harry Potter and discovered that “real” world problems are every bit as dramatic and serious as those found at Hogworts, and by doing so she joins a chain of father, grandfather, and great grandfather who puzzled over the morality questions posed by boys doing their own thing, but growing into their father’s shadow; about telling the truth and lying, about doing the right thing even when it’s hard, and about what it means to be a friend when you can’t wave a wand or call on a house elf to fix a problem.
While definitely a product of its age (people of color are few, and almost everyone has a Mom and a Dad at home) the excitement, dilemmas, and heroics are timeless, and it’s my hope that in another twenty years a mother, now grown, having learned right from wrong and how to be a friend, will place a worn copy of a book about two brothers into her child’s hand and say, “instead of playing that gamebox, why don’t you try this, it is an adventure just as good as lego starship stomper’s” and that child will ride an ice boat, or drive a motor boat, and find out who kidnapped their dad, or hid the gold in the mine at the ski resort.
Because after all, sharing something that has come down through the ages with another generation is just as important as creating something that may last down the generations.
