I have a son. He's nine.
Other people have sons and daughters, too.
One day, my son asked, "Mom, is it true that I can get sent to war?"
Deep breath. Well, my beloved child, it is true that when you turn eighteen, you will have to register for the draft--that's so the government has a list of boys old enough to fight in case they need it.
"Just boys? That's not fair!"
No, it isn't. Boys who didn't sign up to join the army haven't been sent to fight since I was a child. There was a terrible war then, and a lot of people thought it was wrong.
My son sat silently, tears running down his face.
Darling, what is it?
He took a deep breath, and whispered, "Mommy, war is wrong. Killing people is bad. I'm scared."
I know. Do you know what? In this country, we vote for our government, and if the people we vote for do the wrong thing, they don't get elected again. All those people we've elected know that if they started sending people to fight who didn't sign up--if they started the draft again--the whole country would be screaming at them and they wouldn't have a job anymore. Lots and lots of people would try to stop them, and vote--your big sister will be old enough to vote in the next election for President and she'll help, too.
Now, it's my most important job as your mom to keep you safe. And I promise you right now, I am going to keep you safe. If you don't want to go fight, you won't. I will vote, I will call people, I will go march, I will take us out of the country if I have to. But you know what, sweetie?
"What?"
We aren't alone. This country belongs to us.
We aren't alone. This country is ours. Ours. We love our sons and daughters, and we will not send any more of them to die for delusion and vanity.
I love my son. I love my country. I would like to save them both.