Hating Goldie

I can definitely relate to Phyllis Rose in her memoir “Hating Goldie” because I had been resentful towards my parents for replacing a pet that had died without my knowledge. When I was five years old I had received a black hamster as a Christmas present from my grandma. My parents were not going to let me keep it at first, but with a little begging I was able to change their minds and they actually grew to like Frank. I kept Frank’s cage clean and played with him almost every day, and soon I considered him to be one of my best friends. 

One day after school, about a year after I had first got him, I went to put some food in Frank’s dish. But when I put my hand inside the cage, he bit me! I was very alarmed, not even so much that my finger was bleeding, but I was convinced that he must be very sick to do something so out of character. I told my parents about it and suggested that we take him to the vet, but they didn’t seem very concerned. As time went on, Frank’s behavior seemed to get even more aggressive and I asked my mom if we should put him down. That was when she told me that “Frank” wasn’t actually Frank. He was a new hamster that she had gotten after the real Frank had died when he ran under the oven while I was at school. I was crushed. I felt like my entire life, all six and a half years of it, had been a lie. 

I was resentful towards my parents for a while after finding about about Frank’s death, but not in the same way that Phyllis Rose was resentful to her parents. I was mad that they had lied to me about the death of my pet, while Rose was angry that her parents had been so good to her that she did not have enough suffering in her life to make her a good writer. I’m still trying to figure out who’s story is more pathetic.