Back in high school, I was the type of student who procrastinated and often did my homework at the last possible minute.

One day in class, at the end of the week, we were put into pairs, given an opinion on a topic, and then told we’d be debating for our opinion in two weeks, as another group had gotten an opposite opinion on the same topic. During the following week, we were to research our topic, find points to argue for our opinion, and together plan some sort of strategy. Every group had been given a few papers on their topic, but it was up to each group to find out more.

Unfortunately, I got a cold for a week and a half and stupidly did not look up anything, as I completely forgot about the assignment. Come Friday, upon entering the classroom, my mind was flooded with the memory of papers shoved into the bottom of my bag, my partner and I sitting together, and the deadline of today, the second of two weekly lessons with that teacher.

I more or less rushed over to my partner, asking her if she’d found anything, and her face said it all; she also hadn’t looked anything up. After asking around, we found out that we and our opponents would be the last to debate; everyone else got done during class earlier that week.

Fishing up the papers from two weeks before, we began hastily scrabbling for any information that would stick to our brains, when we looked up and saw the other group looking through their papers, pointing at some words, and discussing with each other. It was at that moment we knew we were screwed, and that our teacher would probably reprimand us for not doing anything.

Eventually, our teacher entered the classroom and everyone took a seat. She asked the two remaining groups to come up, and we solemnly made our way to one of two tables set up in the front of the classroom, ready to get an a**-kicking and a stern lecture on doing your homework.

The topic we’d been given was about prenatal care, and more specifically about screening pregnancy; my partner and I were for screening, while the other group was against it.

We both realized they had studied the subject, and they more or less took the lead in the debate. We did our best trying to lift up our opinion with what little we’d managed to remember from our short read-through, but we knew it would eventually turn into us going in a circle, repeating the same facts.

I somehow got into how a screening might tell if a fetus was at risk for a birth defect, which then delved into abortion, with them strongly making their case that abortion was bad, and thus screening was bad. It was then, when I knew we had nothing else left, that I pulled this line out of my a**:

“I’m not saying I stand for abortion, but I stand for women to have the choice and chance to prepare for a baby who might be born with a defect.”

That apparently threw them off, because they just stared silently at us and had nothing to say back.

We got a little applause from the rest of the class, and our teacher asked the class which one of the groups the rest of our classmates thought had made the stronger case on the topic, and they actually picked mine and my partner’s, pointing out my line as the “winning argument.”

Due to an ongoing sickness, I miss more than half of the whole year’s PE classes. While I am obviously excused and not written down for skipping class or anything, my teacher still pulls me aside a few weeks before we get our final marks.

Teacher: “Listen. With the little time you’ve been in class, I can’t properly grade you. The school requires a certain amount of participation in class, and we don’t have homework or exams to get points in PE, either, so right now you’re at about 20%. That’s a failing grade.”

Me: “Uh, okay. Is there any other way I can make up points for missing class?”

Teacher: “I really can’t think of anything sensible. All I can do is give you a topic to write a paper on, and enter it as participation into the system.”

Me: “I can do that; I like writing papers. What topic?”

Teacher: “Uh, volleyball.”

Me: “Just… volleyball?”

Teacher: “Yeah.”

Me: “Like, the history of it? Professional volleyball? What?”

Teacher: “Just volleyball.”

Me: “You mean how to play?”

Teacher: “Yes, sure, let’s do that.”

I wrote a five-page paper about How To Play Volleyball, which meant I basically copy-pasted the rules of volleyball and drew some diagrams of the field and player positions. My teacher loved it and actually used it as a guideline in future classes doing volleyball.

The year after, I missed most of PE again because of my sickness, and I was given yet another topic to do a paper on — basketball this time. Rinse and repeat for my entire high school career. No one at the school ever thought about maybe excusing me from PE entirely, since it was a required class and there was no option for me to have any other class as a replacement.

I ended up graduating with a rather mediocre but acceptable grade in PE, having barely done any sports at all. I kind of feel like the school’s grading system never considered how to actually grade physical classes.

It is a Sunday afternoon when a friend in my A-Level Politics class asks me how many pages long the essay due on Monday is supposed to be. I panic at this point, as I’ve completely forgotten that there even is an essay due.

I get the pertinent details from another classmate and start working on the essay. By late evening, I realise that I’m not going to get it finished in time. However, I will be able to write a little more than the first page. 

I write this, print it, and take the first page to school. In the class, I hand it in to the teacher in a plastic wallet. That evening, I finish up the essay, print the full document, and take that in on Tuesday. Before classes start, my politics teacher finds me and lets me know I only handed in the first page.

Feigning ignorance and concern, I apologise and say I can print it off again and give it to him at break. At break, I go to the Humanities office and hand over the completed document.

And that’s the story of how I managed to give myself a day’s extension on an essay. Thankfully, I had a reputation as a good and conscientious student, which probably gave me the benefit of the doubt in the teacher’s eyes, but I never risked that gambit again!

(When I’m 14, in the early nineties, I’m very shy and hold my parents in high regard. For Dutch class, we have to write an application letter to a fictional company. It’s Monday, the first hour of school, when this happens. I’ve just turned in my application letter and we’re supposed to be reading a piece of homework. Our teacher is very old-school.)

Teacher: “[My Name], come over here, please.”

(I go up to his desk, feeling very anxious about being in full view of the whole class.)

Teacher: “What’s this?” 

(He holds up my application letter, which I typed on our computer; I even went as far as to type up the envelope.)

Me: “That’s my application letter, sir.”

Teacher: “Why did you type this? I told you to write it!”

Me: “Well, my dad says companies nowadays like to see letters typed up on a computer as it shows you can type and use a computer.”

Teacher: “But didn’t I tell you to write it?”

Me: “Yes, but my dad…”

Teacher: *interrupting me and sounding really annoyed* “Who would know about these things better? Me or your dad?”

(Oh, boy, wrong question.)

Me: “My dad, sir, because he works at the employment agency!”

(The teacher turns bright red.)

Teacher: “OUT! NOW! AND DON’T COME BACK THIS WEEK!”

(I literally legged it out the door as the class went wild. That day I learned that telling the truth isn’t always the best idea. I didn’t tell my dad this until years later. He found it hilarious!)

(Every year, the Archdiocese my school is a part of puts on a “Keep Christ in Christmas” contest for anyone from 1st to 12th grade. For it, you can submit one of three things: a poster, a 250- to 300-word essay, or a piece of poetry. While the actual prompt is incredibly obvious, you can spin it in literally any direction you want. My high school is one of the only ones that actually makes all of its students do the contest for a grade each year; however, all of the religion teachers go through their submissions and only actually turn the best ones into the contest. It’s my last year doing this contest and I decide to write an essay on the Santa Lie and how commercialism is replacing the original meaning behind the holiday. I finish up and leave my hard copy on the counter so I don’t forget to bring it to school the next day. Unfortunately, my mom finds it and she barges into my room waving it in her hand.) 

Mom: “[My Full Name], what is this?!”

Me: “Uh, my ‘Keep Christ in Christmas’ essay?”

(She then goes on a rant about how terrible and cynical my essay is before reading it out to my dad, who ends up agreeing with her.)

Me: “It’s my last one, Mom. I honestly don’t care anymore.”

(After a bit more arguing, she begrudgingly lets me turn it in. Fast forward about two days.)

Mom: “I got the email that your essay was graded; what did you get?”

Me: “I got full points, 40 out of 40.”

Mom: “I don’t believe you. Show it to me now.”

(She isn’t very happy when I confirm my grade. The next day, I go to my religion class.)

Teacher: “All right, everyone, here are your ‘Keep Christ in Christmas’ submissions back.”

(He finally walks around to my desk.)

Teacher: “Oh, yeah, [My Name], I’m keeping yours to turn in to the Archdiocese. I really like angry screams against capitalism.”

(My mother was not at all happy. Unfortunately, I didn’t win.)