Mark no like writing, either

Mark broke my heart once again by admitting that in addition to being a bad speller, he also hates writing.

"Yeah, but--" I started, in writing's defense.

"No," Mark interrupted, shutting me down. "I hate it. That is all."

I sighed. He doesn't like math either, but that's not a knife to my heart like the writing sentiment is.

I consoled myself by thinking maybe he doesn't really hate writing--maybe he's just lazy. (Yes, I would prefer lazy to anti-writing.) Writing is made up of words, and good writing is made up of correctly spelled words, and it takes effort to spell those words right. I can see where he'd hit the disconnect.

But I didn't realize just how much he hated writing until he wrote a report for language arts class. The first part of the task was to answer questions about the subject, then turn those answers into the paragraphs making up the paper.

"What do you think, Mom?" he asked, handing me the paper.

I glanced over his answers.

"Well, we've talked about plagiarism before," I said. "You can take the ideas from the book, but you have to put them in your own words."

He bristled, clearly insulted.

"They are my own words," he insisted. Then, a little less indignant: "Why do you think I just copied them?"

"Because they're all spelled correctly," I pointed out. "And there are some pretty big words here."

Mark deflated. He may be sensitive, but he's also realistic, and knows when he's beat. He grinned mischievously, but unlike the rest of the world, I am immune to his charms.

"Stop stealing someone else's work," I said. "You're smart enough to have your own opinions."

Turns out I was right--he is opinionated.

"Huh, listen to this," I said a few days later, reading a news article. "The SATs are being revised--when you take them, the essay will be optional."

"Yes!" Mark yelped, throwing his arms in the air. "I don't have to write a stupid essay!"

"Optional," I repeated. "Meaning, extra credit--higher scores mean higher chance of acceptance at better schools."

"Optional," Mark corrected me. "Meaning, don't have to do it."

"What if you wrote about something you're really passionate about?"

"I'm passionate about not writing," the little smart-alek answered.

"You could write about that--why essays are a bad idea," I said.

"Nope," Mark replied. "That's a trap. You can't write about not writing--instant fail."

"What about an essay on cat behavior?" I asked.

"Cat's don't behave," he shot back. "End of essay."

"Sports?" I asked, giving it one last shot.

"I only like to read about sports," he said. "What part of 'optional' don't you understand?"

"All of it," I said, sighing. "You don't like writing, you don't like math--what kind of jobs does that leave open when you grow up?"

"Professional basketball player," said my 90-pound, 5-foot-1-inch 8th grader. "I've got mad basketball skillz."

And maybe he actually thought "skills" instead of "skillz," but I doubt it. I know Mark, and I know his spelling. And now, obviously, I know his dreams of becoming an NBA player.

"Cool," I said, since Mark's not the only one who knows when he's beat. "But maybe brush up a little bit on the math and reading, just so you don't get ripped off on your contract."

"That's what lawyers are for," he said, and mimed throwing a ball into the hoop. "All I gotta worry about is shootin' buckets."

Indeed. I wish that was all I had to worry about, too.