My daughter the salesman

In sales, the number-one rule is always 'don't take 'no' for an answer.' Sales courses and seminars on assertiveness mandate it and show you how to achieve it. Expensive courses and seminars. DVDs. Infomercials. A billion-dollar industry devoted on teaching people how to separate other people from their money by not taking no for an answer.

I wonder where my daughter learned it.

Her only DVDs consist of animated adventures starring Dora the Explorer and Dora's cousin Diego. She has never taken an expensive sales seminar – that we would've remembered paying for, I imagine – and she shows even less patience for infomercials than her father does.

So where's it coming from?

When she wants something, and doesn't get it, she takes the aforementioned number-one sales rule and applies it – vigorously.

What I have learned to do, much like a boat listing from side to side in a storm is withstand the initial thrust of fury and weather the storm of rage, and maintain an air of cool unflappability.

Stay cool while my daughter yells full-tilt at me after I've denied her request for a sweet snack, a trip to the park or some other denial?

Yeah, right.

I take a deep breath.

"Would you like to go the park tomorrow, Gabrielle?"

"No!"

"So you don't want to go to the park tomorrow?"

"No! Now!"

"Well, we can't go now. It's almost bedtime. Would you like to pick out a pair of pyjamas?"

"No! Park! Me go park!"

Now irritated by the circular nature of the conversation, I am more stern with her.

In a clipped voice, I say "No, Gabrielle. Not tonight. We are not going to the park tonight."

Then I stand back and wait for the storm of rage.

From what I understand, this is pretty normal for children her age. The anticipation of an event and denial of the idea is present in their minds, but rationalization isn't quite there yet.

So it goes, until one day last week, she came to me asking to go the park less than an hour before bedtime.

I – again of course -- ask her if she'd like to go to the park tomorrow.

She smiles sweetly with the grin of a little girl who has finally got it. Somewhere, a triumphant piece of instrumental music is playing. Streamers are flying. Balloons are released.

She's finally starting to understand.

She walks over to the door, opens it and waves bye-bye

"No. Me go park by myself," and shuts the door.

Not exactly what I had in mind.