We were waiting for the light to change, our car idling on Guadalupe in front of St. Austin's Catholic Church, when my three-year- old daughter made the comment, Mom, when I'm bigger, I think I'll be a priest.

Normally, when Emmi makes such declarations, cluing me in as to her future plans, I'm quick to support her. You would make an amazing teacher. A cement truck driver? That would be interesting. A zip-cord rider? Pretty exciting! Hmmm . . . a knight or an elf? That is a tough choice.

But her plan to become a priest threw me. Do I tell her that girls can't be priests? She doesn't know this. Undoubtedly, her follow-up question would be: Why?

And how would I explain to her that her baby brother sitting beside her in his car seat, drooling and puzzling over drifting clouds could become a priest but she cannot. She's not used to that idea. Actually, she would probably find it incomprehensible. As a big sister, she's the one who always gets to do things that her little brother can't do yet.

Simply put, she hasn't learned that there are some professions not open to women. Quite the contrary, in her two years at United Methodist preschools, the two pastors have been female. And most of the women in her life hold professional jobs. Yet, her comment made me wonder: How many positions are still not open to women, whether explicitly or not? After all, there's not always a No Girls Allowed sign posted on the door.

For example, the oval office doesn't have one but boys seem to have a much easier time getting in. I remember when Geraldine Ferarro ran for the Vice Presidency in 1984. I was 11-years-old and I doubt I would have noticed anything unusual in the fact that a woman was running had it not, understandably, been the focus of much of the political grown-up talk I overheard. I remember one argument against her nomination: it claimed that periodically women become erratic, hostile, and emotional and if this were to happen at an inopportune time, internationally-speaking, a female president might just push the red button in a fit of rage, nuking our enemies and sending us into World War III. I was too young to put this into perspective. Instead, I puzzled over the details. Why would a woman be the likely one to start World War III? And was launching a nuclear bomb really just as easy as pushing a big RED button? What if someone were to push it on accident, say by sitting on it? Why hadn't the adults thought of this potentiality and built some sort of protective case around it, at the very least? These thoughts were troubling. Yet, even at this gullible age, the argument seemed a bit fishy. It just didn't hold up when I compared it against all of the women I knew.

As I sat there pondering, I wondered how my father would react to Emmi's comment. He's a Catholic deacon, one of the highest positions a married male can hold in the Catholic Church, and he's pretty traditional. But he also has a soft spot in his heart for his ambitious granddaughter, and he might even be secretly pleased, or at least tickled, by her proposal to become a priest. I know his older sister would. Much less bound by tradition, my Aunt Dorothy refers to God as She (with special frequency when around her brother because she knows it will get a rise out of him). When they were kids, they would play church together: despite having three brothers, being the oldest sibling, Aunt Dorothy ordained herself as priest and made them her altar boys.

As a kid, I had an evolving list of things I wanted to be when I grew up: an artist; a teacher; a marine biologist; a writer; a landscape designer; a forest ranger. (I would still like to try my hand at some of these jobs, when I'm bigger.) For a brief stint, I even considered becoming an astronaut.

It was in seventh grade when the last idea came to me and then quickly died. From our school desks, our eyes were glued to the TV as we watched the Challenger launch with Christa McAuliffe aboard, the first teacher and civilian in space. She made it seem more real for us. Astronauts were elusive; teachers were everyday. Waiting for the blast off, we listened to the news reporters detail the rigors of the astronauts' training, the extreme competitiveness of the program, and their extensive knowledge of science. My dream abruptly ended. Science nauseated me . . . quite literally. My stomach could handle zero gravity about as well as it did dissecting a frog in Life Science class. Realistically, I could never become an astronaut.

At the time, it seemed a great revelation that defied everything adults had ever told us: to realize that there are limits to what you can do.

In Emmi's case, it's different. It's not that she couldn't be a priest due to the training or competition. Instead, it's dependent on whether the culture in which she grows up allows her to be one.

Granted, strong faith developed over the years and a calling from God would help. I also realize that the likelihood of Emmi's desire to become a priest lasting longer than the traffic light is slim. And despite what it may seem, I'm not specifically advocating for change in the Catholic Church. That's much too narrow.

I would simply like to have an automatic response of support for my daughter when she says, I would like to be a priest just as I do when she says she wants to be a baker or a handyman. What do I tell her? Do I join the feminists and liberators and encourage her? (Go for it, Emmi! Fight The Man!) Do I perpetuate the current culture that has allowed women some advancement but that continues to see men in the highest positions of authority? (Only men can become priests, but you could be a nun.) Or do I place hope on her generation to continue changing things for the better, and teach her responsibility to play her part in that evolution? As we tell her brother, You can't do that yet.

As the light turns green, I'm jolted back into reality. I look into my rearview mirror to see whether Emmi has noticed my long pause, but she appears lost in thought herself. As we roll forward, she picks the conversation back up, putting everything into perspective and bringing me into the reality I prefer above all others that of a kid. And when I'm priest, she continues, my church will have four playgrounds!

Wow, I find myself saying, That's a great idea, Emmi. You would be a fun priest.

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