As the eldest of seven children, I was in charge of preparing my Dad for Judgment Day. He was always over prepared for everything and left little to chance. Like a taxi squad athlete who impersonates an upcoming star opponent in practice, my job was conducting debate prep for Dad in anticipation of his entry into the hereafter. I attacked him with his faults and shortcomings. I attempted to demolish his defenses which were formidable. Like a friendly sparring partner stung one time too many, I could occasionally cross a line that was not taped down well enough. But we were both impressed with our stamina. Dad delayed his death as long as possible to gain every extra moment of debate practice before facing the Trinity Tribunal in the after world. He was wealthy enough to worry about squeezing more than a camel through the eye of a needle. I cautioned him against giving away his assets to charitable causes too quickly as his heirs could do that for him later. Then I helped him balance on the narrow beam between persuasive advocacy and humble apology. The preparation process was so exhausting that I absolved my eldest from performing the same service for me. After all, I am far less wealthy than Dad and my lesser accomplishments and qualities make my pride merely amusing. My plan is to crawl under the radar into The Good Place while the politicians are being interrogated. But my own sons still care enough to uphold the family soul saving tradition. If we make too much noise, I hope Dad is somewhere he can hide me until the heat is off.