Another post about Mark

Years ago, Marianne's girls thought I wrote about Mark way too often and didn't give Braeden and Emma enough press around here.  My excuse now is that he's the only one here.

I picked him up from school and when he learned I had a sore throat, he said, "You don't talk.  I'll answer all your questions."

(I'm predictable I guess.)

He said, "I had a good day.  I have some homework in Spanish."

Duty completed, the rest of the way home he talked about PE.  It's the one class I hear all about.  It also never ceases to amaze me that Mark actually enjoys PE.  It's like someone telling you how much they enjoy having a cold.

(I hated PE.)

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Yesterday I was working with Mark's doppelgänger (we'll call him MD for ease).  We were working on writing and MD hated it.  He didn't want to write a personal narrative.  He didn't want to be told what to write.

He was supposed to write about a time he was sick or hurt.  He couldn't (wouldn't) remember a time he was either sick or hurt.  "Have you ever fallen down?" I asked him.

"Everyone has," he said, dismissing me.

"Do you have a bike?  Have you ever fallen off?" I asked, refusing to be dismissed.

He launched into a story about how he was a superhero and had never fallen off his bike.  When Mark was that age, all his stories ended with explosions and MD's was the same.

Finally, he relented to write a story about a time his sister was hurt.  He wondered if he could make up an alternative story where the apple cut his sister (rather than a knife accidentally cutting her).

He also started a story about guns.

(Once Emma asked Mark why all his stories ended in violence.)

This kid is Mark.  Except he doesn't have red hair.

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After school, when Mark had finished telling me about basketball in PE, he started grousing about English.  He said that he didn't like writing what his teacher wanted him to write.  He wanted to write what he wanted to write.

We decided that he and MD could start a support group for kids-who-don't-want-to-write-about-that and his English teacher and I can start a support group for teachers-who-make-them-do-it-anyway.

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Later, I was driving Mark home from an errand and he said, "I know what you need.  A frosty from Wendy's."  I conceded that did sound good.

In a turn of events that would surprise exactly no one, Mark got a frosty too.

I said, "This does help my throat feel better."

He put his arm around my shoulder and said, "No one knows how to take care of their mama like I do."

I think more accurately, no one knows how to get their mom in the Wendy's drive thru like he does.