When I was about four years old, I had a small hollow rubber doll. I cut the doll's mouth open and would push food into it. I cut another hole in the appropriate place for the food to come out. I loved my little doll. One morning my doll was missing from the place where I had kept it. I asked Mommy about the missing doll. She pretended not to know. I suspected that she had taken it. I became very insistent about wanting my doll back. As I became more and more sure that Mommy had taken my doll, I became more and more furious. I whined about it for weeks. I did not want to give Mommy any peace until she returned my beloved doll. I felt that I needed to punish Mommy, even though I too was suffering from having to whine. I continued to be angry with Mommy for years about my doll. Many years later, I realized that the food in the doll probably rotted and that the doll had developed a body odor. I could then understand why she had kidnapped and murdered my beloved doll. Since I still get angry whenever someone takes something that belongs to me, I apparently never completely forgave her.