Huddled inside my closet with a box stacked with antiques, books galore from my childhood in front of me — “The Magic Treehouse,” “Judy B. Jones,” “The Box Car Children” and “Goosebumps” series — and I looked at the two Harry Potter books resting in my hands.

One of them was my brother’s. The purple one, “Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban,” was definitely mine. I remember clearly because of the dark thumbprint oil stain on the cover. I looked at the binding of this antique and saw it was the third book down the line of the Harry Potter series while my brother’s was the fourth.

I feel like I should remember the moment my father gave them to us, being that it was so random, but unfortunately I do not. All I know is it makes me smile all the time because he had no clue they were two to three books down the series and we hadn’t even read the first. I find that silly. I wonder what he was thinking?

My father has always encouraged my brother and me to read. We would make trips to Half Price Books or the library every weekend and return with an abundance of them.

When I was younger, I never knew nor wondered why my father was always so willing to take us to the bookstore and the library, or why he bought us those two Harry Potter books. I just read.

Now that I’m older, I think I understand.

My father always said reading books was important because they fill one with knowledge; one becomes brighter and brilliant. I believe that is the greatest advantage to reading books.

However, I also find it does wonders in different aspects as well, such as allowing room for the imagination to grow and more stories. Would unicorns and fairies be seen as magical creatures? How would they even look like if books did not exist?

If he hadn’t exposed me to books, not only would I have never discovered the wonderful scent of them, but I would have never discovered my love for words. I love the way a sentence can look so perfect and the rollercoaster of emotions they can create, making a person feel everything.

Without books, I would have never known how blue the ocean is, how special wildflowers are, why people are like tsunamis or why Shakespeare wrote to his beloved through poetry. Words last forever.

My father has opened doors and opportunities to beautiful sights that are indescribable. That is one of the greatest gifts he has given me.

I now realize that, though my father did not know exactly what was inside those books he gave to us, he knew it was something great. So maybe he did know all along.