When Mom Only Loved Me Clean

My mother had severe OCD about cleanliness.

To prevent urine from splashing on the toilet seat.

As a boy, I was forced from a young age to sit down when using the bathroom.

Until that day in the school restroom, when I stood in front of the urinal with my face flushed red, I discovered that suddenly I couldn't pee standing up anymore.

I trembled all over in panic, and in the end, I couldn't release a single drop. It all ended up in my pants instead.

I sobbed in shame.

When my mother arrived with a cold expression on her face, she let out a sigh.

"Ernest, you've disappointed me so much."

"You made such a mess of yourself just going to the bathroom. You're no longer a clean child."

Seeing the disgust in my mother's eyes, I felt like I was suffocating from grief.

My mother had said that she would only love clean children.

I thought, if I just wash myself clean, she won't hate me anymore, right?

I looked at that expression of revulsion in my mother's eyes, my heart aching.

I knew she was disgusted by me.

That was the same look she had whenever she saw something dirtybrows furrowed, corners of her mouth turned down.

But Mom, I'm not a dirty thing, I'm your son!

Panicking, I reached out my hand, trying to grab hers.

I wanted to tell her I'd wash myself clean right away, that I wouldn't stay dirty.

"Mom."

My fingers had just touched her sleeve.

My mother jerked back as if she'd been electrocuted, yanking her arm away forcefully.

I staggered back two steps, my back hitting the hallway wall, the back of my head bumping against it. The pain made my eyes sting.

But I didn't cry, because I saw my mother lower her head, staring at the spot on her sleeve that I had touched.

She pulled a wet wipe from her bag and started cleaning it.

She wiped it four times before folding the wipe neatly and throwing it in the nearby trash can.

I looked down at my own fingers.

They were wet, carrying the smell of urine.

I slowly curled my fingers inward, clenching them into a small fist and stuffing it into my pocket.

I wouldn't reach out anymore.

There was no one who wanted to hold my hand anyway.

Ms. Levitt had been standing to the side watching. Now she crouched down, took off her jacket, and wrapped it around my wet pants.

She put her arm around my shoulders, saying softly.

"It's okay, Ernest. I wet my pants when I was little too. It's nothing to be ashamed of."

But when my mother saw Ms. Levitt hugging me, she immediately walked over.

She smiled, bent down, and used two fingers to pinch a corner of Ms. Levitt's jacket, removing it from my body.

"Ms. Levitt, he's dirty. Don't let him soil your clothes."

She said it with a smile, her tone incredibly gentle.

Ms. Levitt stood up, her expression darkening.

She looked at my mother, then at me.

"He's only six years old. Wetting his pants is normal."

"What he needs right now is comfort, not disgust."

I thought my mother would get angry.

But she spoke calmly and deliberately.

"Ms. Levitt, I understand your feelings. But as an educator, you should be aware that the formation of behavioral habits before age six is a critical period."

"Unconditionally accepting children at this stage is equivalent to indulgence. Children without rules will only have worse boundaries as they grow up."

"This is basic educational knowledge."

Ms. Levitt opened her mouth but couldn't find the words to respond.

Several parents who had come to pick up their children nearby stopped and began whispering.

"What this mom is saying does make sense."

"Yeah, you really can't spoil kids too much these days."

"She's doing it for the child's own good."

I stood in the corner, listening to these words, feeling like the whole world was telling me: Mom is right, being dirty is bad.

I lowered my head and sniffed myself. It smelled terrible.

I said quietly.

"I'll go wash myself clean, then Mom won't be angry."

No one heard me.

Behind me, my mother was still discussing educational philosophies with Ms. Levitt.

I turned and walked along the wall of the hallway, step by step toward the stairwell.

My pants were wet, and as I walked, the fabric stuck to my legs, cold and clammy.

When I turned at the stairwell, I looked back. My mother wasn't looking at me.

It didn't matter. Once I washed myself clean, she would look at me.

Behind the school was a small path. At the end of the path was a flower bed and a water basin.

The basin was used by the school for watering plants. It wasn't large.

But on this winter day, the wind was so cold it made me shiver.

I walked to the edge of the basin and saw a thin layer of ice forming on the surface.

I crouched down, rolled up my sleeves, cupped water in my hands, and splashed it on my pants.

The icy water made me gasp.

But I didn't stop. I kept cupping water and splashing it on my pant legs, scrubbing as I muttered to myself.

"Once I'm clean, Mom won't be disgusted by me."

"Once I'm clean, Mom will hold my hand again."

I remembered the rules at home.

Before using the toilet, I had to lay three layers of toilet paper on the seat, not more, not less.

After urinating, I had to spray the toilet seat twice with disinfectant spray, from left to right, never in reverse.

When washing my hands, I had to lather with soap and scrub for the time it took to sing the birthday song twice to be truly clean.

Once I was in a hurry and sat down before laying the toilet paper.

When my mother found out, she dragged me to the bathroom and scrubbed the inside of my thighs with a brush.

She scrubbed until my skin turned red and burned with pain.

As she scrubbed, she said, "So dirty, so dirty."

"How can you be so dirty? How can I ever get you clean?"

After that, I never forgot to lay the paper again.

I thought, Mom doesn't not love me, she just loves the clean version of me.

So as long as I stayed clean, she would always love me.

After scrubbing for a while, I realized that just washing my pants wasn't enough.

My mother had said that anywhere touched by dirty things had to be cleaned, or the bacteria would spread.

The urine had run down my pants onto my legs, so my legs were dirty too.

I took off my shoes and stepped barefoot into the shallow water at the edge of the basin.

The water covered my ankles, so cold that the muscles in my calves cramped.

Gritting my teeth, I bent down to scrub my legs.

I didn't notice the slippery moss on the bottom of the basin.

My foot suddenly slipped forward, and I lost my balance.

Instinctively, I reached for the edge of the basin, but my fingers only grabbed a handful of slimy moss.

My whole body pitched forward into the middle of the basin.

My forehead struck the edge of the basin wall.

There was a dull thud, and then I fell into the water. Water rushed into my nose.

I tried to move, but my head was buzzing and my arms and legs suddenly felt very heavy.

The light before my eyes gradually dimmed. I remembered what my mother used to say.

"Ernest, I only love babies who are clean and spotless."

Mom, I'm washing myself. I'm making myself clean.

Please wait for me.

Once I'm done washing, you'll hold my hand again, right?

Ripples spread across the water's surface in widening circles before fading away.

A few dead leaves drifted down from the trees, landing on the water's surface, sticking to my back.

In the hallway, my mother was still talking.

"Ms. Levitt, it's not that I don't care about him. Quite the oppositeI want what's best for him more than anyone."

"But that's how education works. If I'm soft on him now, he'll suffer greatly in society later."

Ms. Levitt stood across from her, lips pressed tightly together, wanting to speak but continually being cut off.

Suddenly, she glanced down both sides of the hallway, her expression changing.

"Where's the child?"

She turned around and looked.

"Where's Ernest? Where is Ernest?"

My mother lifted her chin slightly, unworried.

"He must have gone to the bathroom. He knows the rulesif he makes a mess, he has to clean himself up."

"I didn't see him go to the bathroom."

Ms. Levitt was already running toward the classroom.

He wasn't in the classroom. He wasn't in the boys' bathroom either.

She ran back, anxiously stopping a passing security guard.

"John, did you see a little boy? About six years old, with wet pants?"

The guard thought for a moment.

"I think I saw a kid heading toward the flower beds out back."

Ms. Levitt's heart sank.

She knew what was behind the flower beds.

She grabbed my mother and ran toward the back door, shouting as she ran.

"Ernest! Ernest!"

My mother was being pulled along, but she still maintained her unhurried demeanor.

"Ms. Levitt, don't panic. He won't go far. The child is very timid."

The two of them went around the flower bed and onto the small path leading to the water basin.

In the distance, they saw a small figure by the basin.

Ms. Levitt squinted to look, breathed a long sigh of relief, but then immediately tensed up again.

"He's by the water? It's so cold out, is he washing himself with cold water?"

She quickened her pace. "No, no, in this freezing weather he'll catch a cold. We need to pull him away right now."

My mother grabbed Ms. Levitt's arm.

"Ms. Levitt, don't go over there. Let him wash himself."

Ms. Levitt froze.

"He finally knows to clean himself up."

My mother looked at the small figure by the water basin in the distance, her eyes actually glimmering with tenderness.

"See, I told you. Once the rules are established, children know what to do on their own."

The corners of her mouth curved upward slightly.

"He's learning to be Mommy's favorite clean baby."

Ms. Levitt was being held by the arm, her foot suspended in mid-air before she drew it back.

"But... in the middle of winter, using cold water... what if he catches a cold?"

My mother waved her hand dismissively.

"Children aren't that fragile. Once he's done washing, I'll take him home to change clothes."

Ms. Levitt bit her lip and ultimately didn't move forward.

She stood in place, watching from afar that small figure hunched over by the water basin.

She felt something was wrong, but couldn't put her finger on it.

My mother released Ms. Levitt's arm and slowly walked toward the water basin.

As she walked, she said.

"Once he's done washing, I need to make sure he dries his hands thoroughly. Who knows how many bacteria are in that basin water."

"When we get home, I'll have to wash him again with hot water and soak him in disinfectant for ten minutes."

My mother walked to about three meters from the basin and stopped.

She saw that the water seemed a bit murky and was tinged with a faint reddish color.

My mother frowned.

"This water is so dirty, it smells like rust. When we get home I'll definitely have to scrub him twice with body wash."

My mother shook her head in disgust and continued walking forward.

Finally, she could see clearly what was in the basin.

I wasn't crouching by the edgeI was face down, lying in the water.

My small arms hung on either side of my body, rising and falling gently with the ripples on the water's surface.

My mother's footsteps paused.

"Ernest? What are you doing?"

"Lift your head up. The water is dirty, don't lie in it."

Her tone was impatient.

I didn't move. I couldn't move.

"Ernest."

She bent down and grabbed my collar, pulling upward.

Still muttering.

"Get up, get up, your clothes are all wet, now I'll have to wash them again!"

"Do you have any idea how hard clothes are to wash!"

My face emerged from the water.

My mother's hand froze.

The face was a bluish-purple color.

There was a gash on my forehead that had turned pale from being soaked in water.

My mother's hand gripping my collar started trembling.

Her throat felt blocked, unable to make a sound.

Behind her came Ms. Levitt's urgent footsteps.

She saw me in my mother's hands, saw that bluish-purple little face, and screamed.

Her knees went weak and she collapsed by the edge of the basin.

With trembling hands, she took me from my mother, laid me on the ground, turned my head to the side, and pried open my mouth to let the water flow out.

Then she interlaced her fingers and pressed them on my chest, pushing down rhythmically.

Crying as she pressed.

"Ernest, spit it out! Spit it out!"

One. Two. Three.

My head lolled limply with each compression.

My mother knelt by the basin's edge, her entire body frozen, not moving at all.

Behind her, Ms. Levitt compressed for a full two minutes until her arms gave out, finally stopping.

She collapsed on the ground, her voice full of despair.

"Call 911... quickly call 911!"

"Ernest isn't breathing..."