I had a rabbit toy

I had a rabbit squeaky toy.

I suddenly remembered the last time I saw it- I was about to put it in a box to give away when I thought, "Why do I have this?"

You see, it wasn't supposed to be mine.

I was very young. The neighbor's kid was having a birthday party.

My parents sat me down, showed me the toy rabbit and told me they were going to give it to the neighbor's kid. They were doing this to be nice to them because they were my grandparents' tenants. They were showing the toy to me so I would know, so I wouldn't get jealous if I saw them give it to the neighbor's kid.

You know what I did? I hit that rabbit and it fell on the floor.

But I wasn't jealous.

I just couldn't articulate what I was feeling. Even as I child I was being told we couldn't afford things. And I was okay with that. I kept quiet and tried not to bug my parents to buy me things. But now, suddenly, they could make that effort for the neighbor's kid. Not their own kid. "Ridiculous" and "unfair" weren't in my vocabulary yet so I did the closest thing that I could to voice out how I felt. I swatted that rabbit out of their hands. 

I guess to them that meant I was just a jealous kid. Envious of a toy. And that was the start of a seemingly lifelong inability to masterfully articulate how I feel, what I think, and the disappointment that I often felt because of it. Misunderstood, misconstrued, unheard.

I didn't like the toy. I didn't even want the toy. I don't even remember them eventually giving the rabbit toy to me. I didn't ask for it. I didn't question it. It was just there.