Reading Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone aloud to your kids before bed is pure magic. You go into the child’s room, begin to read, and when you emerge all the dirty dishes have disappeared. That’s why I read that book to all three of my kids.

But that’s not the only reason. I also like showing off. I deploy character voices and accents. And, unlike my adult peers, the children think my Irish accent is “spot-on.” You should hear my characters — Hagrid is a gruff pirate prone to shouting loud enough to wake the other kids, the Weasleys all have a charming Australian/Cockney thing going on, and Mr. Dursley is an almost spooky homage to Fawlty Towers-era John Cleese.

I’ve gotten so good at it, that my youngest only has to stop me a few times a night to ask “who is that talking?” I particularly struggle to differentiate the bad guys: Snape, Mr. Malfoy and Voldemort all sound like Vincent Price with laryngitis.

I admit that I’m not always “on.” Last Saturday night must have been a little confusing for my youngest. Dad had a couple glasses of Syrah and as a result all the characters suddenly sounded like an English Foster Brooks. (Police should make DUI suspects say “Slytherin” five times fast, by the way.)

Despite my selfish motives and suspect voiceover talent, the little guys sure seemed to enjoy reading that book — all three in slightly different ways. None more than my youngest. He made finding our place easy, as he could always recite verbatim the last line we had read the night before. I explored Hogwarts for a final time, through his wide eyes.

Speaking of eyes, something must have gotten in mine as I was finishing Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone for the last time. The book has a happy ending, but for some odd reason, after I had turned off the light and closed the boy’s door, I kept tearing up.