Barbara the Hamster

I opened my email this morning to see one from one of my students who just finished fourth grade. We will call him Jamie.

The subject said, “This is important.”

I opened it to find Jamie had sent me his latest animation on Google Slides, his favorite thing to do on classroom computers.

So much his favorite that Jamie and two other buddies made a “production company” where they produced Google Slide movies that were mostly about trains endlessly going over cliffs.

But this one was called The Life of Barbara.

Barbara is Jamie’s hamster, and Barbara became something of our class mascot. Jamie called her his daughter.

“What could we write about? Yes, of course, Jamie’s daughter Barbara.”
“What is something you’re thankful for? Yes, of course, Jamie’s daughter Barbara.”
“What are we celebrating this weekend? Yes, of course, Jamie’s daughter Barbara is turning two. Her birthday party is on Saturday.”

It only got a little awkward when we had guests in our classroom, and I was inexplicably referencing the daughter of my nine-year-old student.

So I opened his movie and watched it, though admittedly I progress through the slides faster than he has animated them. My brain doesn’t need the full 3 seconds per frame.

It was this sweet little film about the day he got Barbara. She arrived in a little box with air holes. Barbara was a happy little hamster who spoke in caveman grammar. Me Hamster.

But then, when she was 105 in hamster years, she started to not feel well. She died in her sleep, her eyes turned to Xs, and she got an angel halo as her soul floated to the clouds.

The last frame said, “Based on a true story.”

Barbara died yesterday, and Jamie wanted me to know.

I reached out to his mom, and she said it’s been very sad at their house. Jamie said he has a Barbara-sized hole in his heart.

If I liked anything about this, I like that he found a way to feel his big feelings. He’s processing his grief, and he channeled his sadness into creativity. He made something.

And, he shared it with me.