The Extraordinarily Ordinary Life of Ron Weasley

I suppose it all started on that cold, rainy day in mid-March, 1980. Typical, of course- it always rains in England in March. I was born in the usual, ordinary way. A mid-wife helped my Mum to deliver me, the 6th boy in the family. Dad snipped through the sixth set of umbilical chords, and for the sixth time decided to be traditional and have his sixth son circumcised, the same as all the others before me. Even my name was ordinary- by that point in time, Mum had lost all pretense of originality in naming. Ronald, for Mum's father, and my middle name, David, for Dad's.

The first couple months were probably more of the same. Nothing new, everything by the book- all social requirements and prerequisites met. I'm sure my relatives all gathered 'round, passing me quickly and purposefully from one set of waiting arms to the next, eager to get at Mum's famous Yorkshire and trifle pudding. After all, if you've seen one small, wrinkled, red-headed Weasley boy, you've seen them all.

At least I had the austerity of being the baby of the family. The little one- the one that got all the attention from Mum (breast feeding is hardly a spectator sport) and newest and most recent burst of pride from Dad. It may have been the best, most distinguishing year of my life- but I hardly remember. Before I was a year old, I was supplanted, not only by the seventh, and youngest child, but a baby girl of all things. There would be no living with this affront to my position.

So, there I was, forced to wean early so that Mum could feed the darling baby girl (nothing personal, Ginny, I swear- you're my favorite little sister), and clothed only in hand me downs from my legions of older brothers. I said my first word, which, of course, was "dada." How ordinary is that? I couldn't have come up with something original, like "Quidditch," oh, no- Ron Weasley, the extraordinarily ordinary sixth child of Arthur and Molly Weasley. Bound by Nature, God and a wickedly boring pre-ordained order of the universe to do everything the way it was done previously.

The first milestone I can really remember growing up was when I lost my first tooth. I was only four years old, and I lost it because Fred shoved me and when I fell, I landed on a toy truck, mouth first. So there I stood, mouth looking kind of funny with a gaping, fleshy hole, tasting the nasty irony-blood seeping from this most grievous wound, and Mum is howling mad at Fred. Hell, he probably remembers the occasion better than I do. I do remember later that day, carrying my dejected little tooth over to her, showing it to her, begging to be noticed, and all she said was "Confound that boy, Heaven only knows what I'm to do with him."

Don't get me wrong, I love my Mum, but with seven kids, you've got to cut corners somewhere. She was attentive enough to make sure all my needs were met. The same needs she'd carefully met for all five of her previous sons. Little moments like first words, haircuts, smiles, and teeth all get swept away in the hassles of raising a bustling family of seven. Bill and Charlie were both ages older than I was- Bill by thirteen years, and Charlie by eleven. They were already started at Hogwarts when I was just a wee little tyke- Bill, a handsome, confident teenager, already gaining rave reviews from his instructors, especially for his abilities in Charms and Potions, of all things. And Charlie, in his second year, starting on his first season as Seeker on Gryffindor's Quidditch team. Percy was a bloody genius from the age of four, I swear. And the twins, well, no one has ever accused them to be ordinary in any way. I couldn't even capture my parents attentions by becoming a trouble maker- anything I pulled was bound to be overshadowed by their double acts, and subject to the same previously determined punishment.

I suppose that's why I wasn't too enthralled by going to Hogwarts at the tender young age of eleven. After all, two of my brothers had already graduated and were already holding down successful and unique (if not terribly prestigious) jobs. Percy was already a prefect, and had the distinct markings of being (as my mother loved to crow out at least seven or eight times a day) the second Head Boy in the family. And Fred and George, starting in on their third year, were already famous pranksters, to a degree I would never quite appreciate until later in my academic career.

If I had only known that Hogwarts would not only afford me the opportunity to distinguish myself from my brothers, but also to meet the love of my life (a woman who, incidentally, makes me feel anything but ordinary), then maybe I wouldn't have started out the trip so disheartened.