Words Are Stronger Than Tanks

Remember a few months ago I whined about the whole tanks/guns/war thing?  Yeah, we're still trying to wrap our heads around it, too. 

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“Where are we going? I’m hungry for breaaaaaaaaaaaakfassssssssssssst!” he whines, as we walk towards the school gates. “No, Mammy! School is closed today!”

“Yes, baby,” I say. “But Mammy is going to vote this morning.”

“What does ‘vote’ mean?” he asks.

“Well, you know the government who runs our country and... looks after everyone?” The latter few words stick in my throat slightly, but my inflection doesn’t waver enough for him to notice and he nods. “Well how do you think those people get into the government?” I ask.

He shrugs.

I explain the very basic premise as the furrows in his brow uncrease as pieces of understanding fix themselves together in his little head.

“Can I vote?” he wonders.

“You can when you’re eighteen,” I tell him. “And do you know what? Less than a hundred years ago, they didn’t let women have a go at voting. They only let men. What do you think of that?”

“So, they only let Daddies but not Mammies decide the government?” he asks.

“Yep.”

“Well I think that that mustn’t have been very fair for all the Mammies.”

“You’re right, it wasn’t fair for all the Mammies. But you know, all those Mammies got together and fought the government and made them make it fair.”

“Did they have a war with tanks?” his eyes light up.

“No, baby. They fought with words. Words are stronger than tanks.”

At this, he throws his head back and laughs. “Words are not stronger than tanks. Especially not the 75mm gun on the German Panther from 1943 that weighs 35 tonnes and has a turret and 80mm armour on the side of the hull.  Can we have crumpets for breakfast?”