When Alia was about 3 or 4, she decided that car trips would be much better if I sat in the backseat next to her instead of in the driver’s seat. I patiently explained that someone had to drive the car for us to get places, and since I was the only one who could reach the pedals AND had a driver’s license, I had to stay in the front. Undaunted by the rules of logic, she assailed me with appeals for months. Fortunately—mostly because it was illegal and definitely because it was dangerous—I stayed firm.

Then she got more ambitious. She decided she would drive the car and I could sit next to her in the front seat. What?! This was even more ridiculous. I was almost relieved. For sure, I was going to win this argument…but not necessarily. Alia is a Master Negotiator. It is galling how good she is at out-arguing me, and I craft arguments (for fundraising) for a living! But there’s no competing with a creative, super-cute four-year old. I start out strong, yet somewhere along the way, as her “reasons” get more and more outrageous, I weaken and can’t help laughing. And that’s when she knows she’s won.

For this argument, though, I didn’t waver. But I also didn’t realize how committed she was. Week after week, Alia held her ground, devising new and ingenious reasons for why she should be driving the car. I figured she would eventually get bored with the game and move on to something else, but the weeks became months and she was as determined as ever. In fact, she extended her “court time” to beyond car trips, revving up her reason generator while we were still home getting ready to go out.

At this point I got exasperated. It was hard to keep saying no, especially when it meant so much to her. And it was even harder to defend those Very Good Reasons to someone completely incapable of recognizing their legitimacy. The next time she asked for the car keys I defended my position with open desperation: “You don’t even have a driver’s permit!”

Alia froze and then looked at me, elated. She scrambled across the room, eagerly grabbed Kermit the Frog from her pile of stuffed animals and thrust him toward me with an Olympic victory grin, “I’ve got a driver’s Kermit! I can drive!!”

And that is how (in her mind) she won the argument of driving our car. She believed with complete conviction that she was now qualified to drive our car—she had a driver’s Kermit!

Ah, the world of a four-year old. In my daughter’s mind, anything was possible, including driving a car with pedals you couldn’t reach, along streets with signs you didn’t understand, to explore a world filled with adventures. Of course, I didn’t let her drive the car (not even in the driveway, not even while it was parked). But it didn’t bother her; she was delighted to have a driver’s Kermit. She found a side door to happiness when the front door was locked, and that was enough for her.

I admire her persistence in finding a positive way out of her dilemma. It reminds me, and I hope you too, to keep looking for a better answer. If you find yourself in a situation where the front door to what you desire is locked or unreachable, please remember, somewhere there is a side door. And regardless of Very Good Reasons why the front door is locked, you can still get in from the side. If you have to, bring Kermit along for encouragement.