As a young man of 15 years, there were a great many things that Simon did not believe himself to be. He did not believe that he was especially handsome, witty or intellectually gifted. There were, in point of fact, a great many things that he did not believe himself to be. This was the result of something more insidious than the traditional insecurity and angst known by young men everywhere. This was the direct result of the unique methods of parenting employed by his mother, Sylvia. Under her guidance, he had grown into a youth who only truly believed he was one thing. He was exceptionally lucky to have survived to his current age at all.
Simon never knew his father. His earliest memories were of no one but his mother in the house. When he was old enough to understand her, four years he recalled, she sat him down and explained his father had gone away and would never be coming home. She provided no details or further explanation and considered the matter resolved. He was wise enough, even then, to realize his best option lay in compliance with her wishes.
Sylvia was not a neglectful or uncaring mother. Simon often thought his life might have been less challenging if she had been. No, Sylvia was one of that special breed of mothers who did not feel it was possible to care enough for the fragile soul placed into her care. She made his upbringing and preparation for the harsh realities of the world outside her sole all-consuming consideration. That was where things got very difficult for the hapless boy.
Simon became accustomed early on to learning the way of things by means of object lessons. Sylvia was a great proponent of object lessons. Nothing drove home a point as thoroughly as a palpable, physical demonstration of a concept. Now there are any numbers of good and effective parents who subscribe to this proactive, hands-on approach to parenting who produce wonderfully well-adjusted and productive children. Sylvia was not one of those parents or Simon one of those kids.
The major obstacle to this was Sylvia’s basis for teaching. She possessed an exceptionally deep and woefully inaccurate collection of superstitions, mistaken ideas and old wives tales upon which she based her life and, by extension, poor Simon’s.
The first object lesson he recalled was around the age of five or so when he fell prey to the common cold. As colds go, it hadn’t been especially severe but it had him running a low-grade fever. Sylvia drew on the adage, “feed a cold and starve a fever” with mixed results. She stuffed and purged the lad to the point he believed he got better only in hopes of regaining a sense of normalcy.
The next year or so led to the need for more frequent and considerably more painful object lessons. Sylvia believed nutrition was very important. Lest he have digestive difficulties, Sylvia did not employ any unusual or exotic spices in her cooking. Salt and pepper were allowable, in moderation. When Simon, in the way of six-year olds, complained that something tasted bland, she had force-fed him the entire contents of the pepper shaker. After some spectacularly-intense vomiting, Simon changed his opinions regarding the quality of the food he received from that point on.
When he’d been diagnosed with a “lazy eye” later that year, she fed her son carrots at every meal and as snacks until he resorted to clandestine bulimia to forestall another helping. A confused pediatrician suggested perhaps Simon was allergic to carrots, thus saving him further suffering on that account.
Then there was the “chocolate debacle”. Sylvia saw no need for a child to be indulged with candy or sweets. Such extravagances were the cause of childhood obesity, poor skin and bad teeth. When Simon had ingested a candy bar during a church-sponsored Easter egg hunt, she had been livid. She rushed him home and proceeded to scrub his face until it had resulted in permanent, superficial scarring. While the physical scars had faded over time, the emotional ones were a tad trickier.
Television was another nicety Sylvia did not care for. She did appreciate the need for a young one to have some external stimuli and so they did own an old console model with basic channels. She allowed Simon to watch educational programs only and those seldom. When she happened to pass by the room to see him sitting within inches of the accursed thing, she drove home the lesson of the ills of “sitting too close to the TV” by the simple expedient of grasping Simon by the back of the neck and bouncing his face off the screen. It was only when the bleeding would not stop that she had taken him to have his broken nose set to rights.
From age seven to ten, the lessons continued. “Cracking your knuckles causes arthritis” was served up by having three of his fingers broken by the application of a steel ruler to them. He needed to understand how painful arthritis could be, of course. “Eating right before you swim will cause cramps” was presented by her holding Simon’s head underwater in his kiddie pool until he lost consciousness. He needed to understand how terrible drowning might be, yes?
“Toads cause warts” was especially nasty. When Sylvia got the common frog away from the curious boy, she had taken him inside and turned on the kettle. The scalding water she poured liberally over his hands caused blisters that she maintained were exactly like the warts the vile creature might have infected him with. Simon said nothing as his injuries were wrapped at the emergency room. He had learned the merits of remaining silent regarding things within the home.
From the age of ten on, her employment of object lessons became less frequent and less necessary. Simon grew into a quiet, shy and unassuming teenager. He understood the way of things with his mother and with the world, albeit in a somewhat twisted and not entirely healthy manner. He was a solitary sort, by nature and conditioning, and so had few friends as he grew into young adulthood.
The inescapable advent of puberty posed significant difficulties for Simon. Lacking a male role model of any sort, he was both confused and unsure. Mandatory exposure to such things both in the locker room and classroom left him with a mishmash of an understanding of the basic concepts but little else. The only thing he remained sure of was this was not a topic he would be best served to bring up with Sylvia.
Simon grew less frightened of the changes in his body and learned, by fumbling trial and error, the ages-old methods of pleasuring himself. His first efforts were conducted with absolute secrecy in the wee hours of the night. As his proficiency and hormonal urges progressed, however, he demonstrated far less caution in such matters. It came to a most unfortunate juncture when he was three months shy of his sixteenth birthday.
He was settled in on his bed indulging his needs when Sylvia chose that time to decide some laundry needed done. She saw no need to provide her son with excessive privacy and so walked into his room with no announcement or feeling that she needed to announce her presence in her own home.
Her horrified screams were of such an intensity that they nearly caused the unexpecting Simon to remove his engorged appendage by the roots. She continued to wail and shriek as the mortified teen did his best to struggle back into his jeans and, thus, spare her the visual affront of his erection.
No sooner had he done so than Sylvia regained enough of her composure to lash out at him with all of the righteous indignation and parental power that she could draw on. She rained down blows on him with brutal force, all the while screaming that he was doomed to blindness for his vile and disgusting actions.
At first, the years of abuse in the form of instruction held Simon in thrall. A particularly intense fist to the jaw displaced two of his teeth and severed any link he might have had to self-control and restraint. On that fateful day, the mouse roared.
His balled fist caught the unreasoning Sylvia squarely in the face and she fell to the floor as if thunderstruck. The ensuing seconds seemed to last an eternity with both frozen in place. Simon broke the tableau by reacting first. He seized a pair of scissors from his desk and began stabbing her about the face and neck.
His rage spewed out of him with each successive strike, punctuated by growls of animal-like fury. Yes, he shouted, masturbation will cause blindness. It would cause blindness for the nosey, asinine, pathetic bitch who had fucked his life up so badly he didn’t have any other option but to jack off. Each word he spat out was accompanied by a downward thrust of the heavy shears.
At length, fatigue and sensory overload led Simon to stop. His realization that Sylvia had expired required no particular medical skill to determine. From the waist up her entire body was a gory, crimson mess. Simon rose to his feet and covered her with a blanket from his bed. He showered and dressed in clean clothing before dialing 911.
Twelve years later, Simon remained in the care of the State’s psychiatric facilities. He had no interest in achieving freedom from confinement. In his mind, he had no need for it. This was, to him, a very fitting object lesson of the truly valid belief that “actions have consequences”. Simon was happy enough although his therapists repeatedly noted in his file his seemingly uncontrollable desire to masturbate whenever and wherever he felt the urge to.
