The Life Review as the Ultimate
You are an eight-year-old boy. It is summer, and you are free to play and get into mischief. One day, though, your father gives you a task. You are to mow your Aunt Gay's lawn and cut down the weeds in her yard. You love your aunt, and she is very fond of you. Previously, she had taken you out to her backyard to tell you about her plans for some wildflowers that grew on little vines in the section your father wanted weeded.
"Leave them alone," your aunt had said, "and as soon as they blossom, we'll make tiaras for all the girls and flower necklaces for some of the guys."
But now your father has told you to cut down those very weeds. As a thoughtful little fellow, you consider your alternatives. You could tell your father of your aunt's wishes to allow the weeds to grow. If your father still insisted they be cut down, you could explain to your aunt that you were made to do it. Or you could ask your aunt to speak to your father. Or, of course, you could just go ahead and take the weeds down. Now, let us enter your head and hear what your eight-year-old mind is thinking.
"I decided to cut the weeds. Well, worse than that, I even came up with a name for the job. I called it 'Operation Chop-Chop.' I deliberately decided to be bad. And I went ahead, feeling the authority that my father gave me when he told me to cut the grass and the weeds. I thought, 'Wow, I got away with it. I did it. And if Aunt Gay ever says anything, I'll just