I was into dolls when I was little, and I also got the Baby Alive doll…but no batteries. And my mom explained that the stores were closed. While my parents were taking a nap I went around robbing every electronic in the house of its batteries, but none were the right size. AND I was so sure that they would work anyway that I had premade some of the food goop. I ended up eating it myself. Urp.
I was disappointed to discover Electric Football was just a vibrating board with players skittering around like ants. As a kid, I imagined the players were tiny robots, drawing power from an electrified playing field.
Ooooo ! OOOO! More disappointing than Baby Alive, and completely no one’s fault either except my rather tiny survey sample size was:
My baby brother.
We were getting a baby in our house, I was not quite 4 and a half. I wanted a brother. I wanted a brother in the fierce way a girl who loves her Daddy wants what Daddy wants. I wasn’t a particularly girly-girl, but Daddy was hoping for a boy and so was I. Plus the idea of a sister… sounded… not fair to me. Three girls against Daddy. Or something.
But I knew one thing. Boys are older than girls. Dad was older than Mom, my two boy cousins were older than their sisters, the neighbour had older sons and younger daughters. So I was going to have a brother and he was going to be ten years old. Sure, there was talk about “baby” brother, but surely he would be older than me… sometime… eventually?
Uh, no. He was born 4 and a half years younger than me, and oddly enough he still is. And boy did I dislike him intensely when he did in fact, become 10 years old. I walked to the mall in January, in Northern Ontario just to avoid his birthday party. I still remember the records I bought that day, one of them cracked from the cold when I walked home.
“You were careless!! You think we’re made out of money?!?”
(Sorry, EXTREME j.k. I have childhood issues)
I was deeply disappointed to find that, if you jump off the roof with an open umbrella, you do not, in fact, fly like Mary Poppins, no matter how hard you wish or how many times you say “supercallifragilisticespialidocious” very, very fast.
I was born at 6:41 am. But, somehow, if I looked in the mirror on my birthday at 6:41 am, I never looked or felt any different from the way I did any other morning. That was a serious let-down.
I didn’t look or feel any different on my first double-digit birthday, either.
I knew the tooth fairy gave me a dollar every time I left a baby tooth under my pillow. Since I wanted a little extra money, I broke a small tusk off a decorative elephant thing I had and left it under my pillow. Oddly enough, the tooth fairy didn’t go for that.
When I came back from the US, I brought several stuffed dolls (a Pillsbury Doughboy and two teddies, all presents from friends). My mother said “oh, I had no idea you liked stuffed dolls! You never asked for a doll!”
“
What, that several-hours-refusing-to-move scene outside a toy store because I wanted THAT Nancy* doesn’t count as asking for a doll? I played with that Petipeke that cousin Brutus broke before I’d even had time to take it off the box until it fell apart, and as for stuffed dolls, I never asked for any because I knew I wouldn’t get any.”
“Oh!”
“C’mon, would you have bought me a teddy if I’d asked for one?”
“No.”
“I rest my case.”
- I had a black-haired Nancy which got destroyed by a friend. It was replaced by a blonde Nancy with a very hard torso, which I didn’t like. Then I saw a “Japanese Nancy” in a store window and, well, I do think that one would hold the record for “biggest tantrum of my life”, only rather than making lots of noise I grabbed an I-beam and refused to move until I got That Nancy; Mom eventually gave up when the storekeeper came back after lunch break (she thought I might be able to hold until mid-afternoon snack time). It’s OK if you’re 4 at the time, right?
Oh, and I don’t have the kimono any more, but I do have the Nancy.
Mom? That you?
[quote=“salinqmind, post:60, topic:634314”]
I wanted a pet raccoon. I would have accepted one on Christmas or my birthday, either day. My pleas for a pet raccoon fell on deaf ears. A lot of my pleas fell on deaf ears, so I wasn’t actually that disappointed. (dang. I was gonna call him ‘Bandit’.)
QUOTE]
Well I did have a pet raccoon as a child (which was why I was sure the Monkey was a sure thing). You really didn’t miss out. He was a nasty bugger. He would hide under the couch and when you sat down he would attack your ankles. He would not keep out of the garbage. And my Mom’s cigarette butts were constantly being “cleaned” in his water bowl. Definitely a wild animal, even though we had him since he was a wee kit.
That’s horrible.
Jim Bowie tamed the west with a knife 1 & 1/2 inches long? I don’t think so. That slingshot from DC Comics back pages was utter crap too (thank goodness for LL Bean).
And that 5000 point camera? It was plastic! I choked down enough Bazooka Joe to spackle 10 neighborhoods of new construction housing for that thing, and its plastic?
You miserable bastids.
I went to a symphony and there was a harp solo in one of the songs. I thought it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever heard, and I wanted to learn the harp in the worst way.
Knowing that Christmas was coming, I let me Dad know what I wanted. My Mom, seeing that he was takign this seriously, began campaigning for a piano instead. It was something the whole family could use, my brother could take lessons too, blah blah blah.
Eventually my Mom got my brother on the bandwagon, which I knew was the death of my wish, as they never denied him anything. My Dad, caught in the middle of all this, and unable to afford both, told me that my hands really weren’t big enough to learn the harp yet. He said if could start out learning the piano, and if I would practice really hard, and show that I was serious, he would get me a harp in a couple of years.
I worked very hard and got pretty good, and really enjoyed playing; but a part of me is still waiting for my harp.
I could blow you up with a pie or something. Then you go straight to heaven and get a harp.
That’s how it works in cartoons, anyway.
That’s so sad. 
But you can buy one now, right!?
I probably will someday, but not this year, and next year ain’t lookin so good. 
In kindergarten, I learned that on the day before or Friday before a holiday, we had a “class party” where almost everyone’s mom would send yummy things like cookies and cupcakes all decorated up. This was in the time before home made stuff was suspect, and really was the norm. We had had a party for Halloween, before Christmas, and for Valentine’s day. Easter was coming up and we were to have a party for it, too! And a WHOLE WEEK off from school! I was so excited! :D:D:D
Then I found out that I would be put in the hospital on the day before the party in order to have my tonsils out on the party day instead. And I was completely miserable for the week off of school while I recuperated from the surgery. :(:mad::(:mad:
I was just reminded of one of my childhood disappointments. I had to go into the hospital on Easter Sunday to get my tonsils out. I was positive my brothers were going to ravage my Easter basket while I was gone. Fortunately they didn’t (as far as I know) but it was days before I could enjoy any of it.
When I was about 8, the city I lived near ran a competition to design a christmas card with all the local schools, including mine. They made a really big thing out of it, and the prize was supposed to be something like £500 for the kid, and lunch with the mayor, as well as a bigger cash prize to the school.
About a month after sending in the entry, we moved out of the county, as my parents were starting their own business, and I obviously had to move to a different school. A few days in at the new place, the head teacher came in with an announcement- she’d just had a phone call to say I’d won the card designing contest! Me! Out of thousands and thousands of kids!
I was really excited- though I wasn’t sure if I was still going to get lunch with the mayor, seeing as I didn’t live there any more, and my parents were probably going to be way too busy to drive back down there. But £500! I could buy a freakin’ pony!
Every morning for months, I excitedly checked the post for the letter telling me about my prize, until christmas passed, and it suddenly occurred to me that they must have disqualified me for moving away, and not even bothered to tell me. I never heard anything more about it.
I still can’t think about that without getting angry- I mean, if they’d sent me a letter saying they were sorry, but the competition was only open to county residents, with a £5 book token, I would have been happy. If they’d just sent me a damn letter saying that I had to still be in the area to get the prize, I would have been a upset, but I would have understood (especially as the major part of the prize went to the school)- but to tell an 8-year-old that they’re going to get something so utterly awesome, and then drop it without a word? Rat bastards.
Ha! Reminds me of a girl I know who at the age of 18, during freshers’ week at university, signed up for the Christian Club cos she thought it said Christmas Club.
My siblings and I had been staying with Grandma for a week during summer break. My mother called to confirm she and my dad would be picking us up at the train station the next day, and she said she had a big surprise for us!
I convinced myself it’d be a puppy. Seven year old me was really disappointed when my mother turned up at the train station with a brand new…
Perm. Fuckin’ 80s.
The raccoon and monkey story made me think of the big rabbit disappointment when I was in fifth grade.
My dad was in the Air Force and TDY overseas. He asked me what I wanted him to bring me and I said a rabbit! My dad said, sure no problem. For the entire time he was gone, I fantasized about my pet rabbit. How soft and fluffy he would be, how I would love him.
My dad came home with…a stuffed blue rabbit! I was so disappointed but I hid it and didn’t tell him for years. He said he had no idea I wanted a real rabbit!