Childhood Memories: Hampy the Hampster

I remember being like eight or nine years old and there was a family party at our house. All the adults were upstairs in the kitchen and the living room, drinking, while the kids under 16 were in the playroom in the basement. Hampy, my little sister’s pet hampster, was in one of those little clear plastic balls that let them roam around without worrying they’ll go too far.

Us kids were watching a movie when my dad’s uncle Rodney (the kids called him ‘uncle Rod’) came in. He was about 70 and more than a little senile. He looked at the little brown opaque plastic ball rolling towards him. He said “you kids and your soccer…” and kicked little Hampy’s ball clear across the room. There was a loud crack of plastic and gyprock as it hit the wall. “You kids stay out of trouble, now….” uncle Rod said as he left the room. All the kids were speechless. The ball was still except for a little rocking motion and Hampy layed motionless for a few seconds. Then he got up, looking dazed, and wobbled a couple of inches forward. My sister picked up the ball and took him out. “He’s okay!” She yelled, with a big smile on her face. Hampy, nervous, but looking in fine health, looked up at us while his body shook a little bit like he was cold.

One week later, Hampy mysteriously died. Now I’m no hampster doctor, but I have my suspicions the two incidents may have been related.

And that’s why I don’t play soccer anymore.

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