Saint Peter stood at the Gates of Heaven. He stroked a flowing white beard even as he faced a dilemma.

Now someone called his name from inside. Peter turned. He spotted a well-known face. He'd recognize the beaklike nose, bright wide-set eyes, and flowing shock of salt-and-pepper hair anywhere.

It was God.

Peter clapped twice in quick succession. The three wraith-like figures he had been talking to disappeared.

God raised an arm and tapped his wristwatch pointedly. "It's way past closing time, Peter. I'm running late already. I told you the missus has asked me to accompany her to the opening ceremony of Nick’s 2005 Toys-a-thon."

Peter said, "It's a tough one, my lord. I've three men here who've all made the world a better place."

God said, "Then what's the problem?"

"We've only one spot left for the day."

God pursed his lips and furrowed his brow, clearly perturbed. "Well, how did they make the world a better place?"

Peter felt relief. Perhaps God would help him solve this hard puzzle. "One's a doctor. He's cured so many people."

"But that, Peter, might cut either way. We must consider the kind of people he's cured, right?"

Peter consulted a hand-held computer terminal. "Mostly the good guys by a ratio of 9 to 1 over the bad guys."

God grimaced. "Fine. He's rock solid. Next?"

Peter said, "The next one's a lawyer."

"Uh-HUH."

Peter said, "But he was a prosecutor. He went after the bad guys."

God groaned. "Drat. And the last of the three?"

"A writer, my lord."

God's eyes brightened. "We can write him off then, can't we?"

Peter rolled his eyes in his head at the pun. God was such an inveterate punster.

Aloud he said, "I'm afraid not. One of his science fiction novels inspired the formation of a world government to end the war of all wars." Peter consulted the computer terminal once again. "And that alone saved good innocent people over the bad ones by a ratio of ..."

God raised a hand, His annoyance now apparent. "Let me guess...9 to 1?"

Peter suppressed a smile. Even God needed help with numbers sometimes. "Actually 8.901 to 1, but that's close enough to 9 to 1, my lord." God yanked at his shirt cuff. "Yikes. The missus will be mad at me. She doesn't like to be kept waiting. We've got to get this over with fast."

"What do we do to break the tie, my lord?"

"Unusual circumstances call for bold action, Peter. All of the evidence so far has been unique to each man. We must strive to compare. Tell me; is their any one common way that the three improved the world?"

Peter glanced at a different chart this time. "By parenting, my lord."

God cracked a smile. "I like that one, Peter. I consider it one of the best parts of my world design." Now God stood with a spaced look on his face.

Peter cleared his throat. "But they've all been conscientious parents."

"Ah, yes," said God. "No doubt." Now He wagged a forefinger. "But we'll choose the best parent to take the last spot in heaven for the day. Summon the three, Peter, and I'll interview them myself."

Peter felt complete relief. Now God would solve this vexing problem Himself. He clapped thrice happily and the three figures reappeared.

Peter explained the situation to them. All three agreed that it was only fair that God Himself decide who would be the one amongst them to make it into heaven.

God stroked his chin thoughtfully. He said, "Name one thing that you did right with your kids?"

The doctor floated close. "Discipline them. Started them young too, I did. Made sure they slept in their own rooms as toddlers -- didn't melt when they cried. Told my wife medical research shows it's good for them. While they grew up, we made sure they learnt morals and values in order to lead adult lives."

The lawyer did his jury-pleasing smile, shaking his head condescendingly at the doctor. "I gave my kids total freedom. I let them do whatever they wanted, and to my last day tolerated whatever they did."

God now turned to the writer who had been silent all this time. "What about you?"

The writer floated forward slowly. He shrugged. "I didn't have much of a choice." A frown came over his face. "We writers get paid so little that it took all my time and energy just to make a living for my family. So I set some boundaries and told them to figure out the rest for themselves."

God snapped his fingers. The doctor and the lawyer disappeared. He spoke to the writer. "You're in."

The writer floated joyfully past them.

Peter bowed. "Thank you, God."

"Anytime, Peter." He checked the time again. "Sheesh. For this, the missus will ignore me for hours."