This past Christmas, my childhood friend’s wish finally came true. From the time she was young, she longed for the joy of owning an Easy-Bake Oven. Dreams of producing baked wonders beyond earthly compare filled her imagination. However, it was a wish destined to remain unfulfilled for decades and, as a result, she was scarred for life. My friend has long claimed that her inability to bake well stems from her mother’s refusal to provide this essential learning tool. But all is not lost. This year, a family member took pity on her and righted this terrible injustice, and an Easy-Bake Oven now graces her home.

If I apply my friend’s logic that her lack of baking skills is directly related to this terrible gap in her education, I can now understand why I have had difficulty in one area of my life. Talkativeness. It all stems from an unfulfilled childhood wish that has scarred me for life. I’ll explain.

As a child, dolls weren’t toys that captured my attention, except for one: Chatty Cathy. Google can describe this marvel for you if it’s beyond your frame of reference. She was revolutionary. Chatty Cathy had a pull string that activated a mechanism that played phrases like “I love you” and “I’m hungry.” It was a doll unlike any other and was the “it” toy of the early 1960s, before we knew what “it” toys were.

That Christmas, Chatty Cathy filled my dreams. However, instead of receiving the desire of my heart, I got Baby Betsy. I don’t know if my parents thought that all alliterative dolls were similar, but they weren’t. Baby Betsy didn’t talk. She wet her pants. Hard to imagine, but true. Baby Betsy came with a bottle that you filled with water and inserted into a small hole in her mouth. The water ran through her hollow plastic body, out the small hole in her bottom, and into her undies. Needless to say, the novelty of soggy drawers wore off quickly.

How has that scarred me for life, you might ask. I missed out on the joy of carrying on a stilted conversation with a friend substitute. With no Chatty Cathy to converse with, I was forced to talk with real friends—in school, of course. I’m sure that Chatty Cathy could have spared me many a report card comment about my talkativeness. To this day, I can still be a little too chatty (if you ask my husband, who “patiently” waits for me to leave church), and I’m sure it all stems from not having had the doll of my dreams.

When I broached the subject of unfulfilled childhood gift wishes with my daughter, to my astonishment, she couldn’t think of any. Nonetheless, we still succeeded in scarring her for life through an egregious parental gaffe. After she was married (yes, you read that correctly), she learned that the Disney movie, Robin Hood, which she had grown up watching on a VCR recording, didn’t end as she’d always thought it did. Since we were unfamiliar with the movie, we didn’t realize we had missed taping the ending. Oops. Her husband introduced her to the full version. Undoubtedly, she could have enjoyed a fuller, richer childhood, or at least suffered less embarrassment as an adult, had she known the whole story.

Our two older grandchildren are now in their teens, and I’m curious about what perceived injustices they think will have lifelong consequences. The other grands are all younger, so there is still time for the whole gang to join the Scarred for Life Club. After all, they do have parents.