'The word 'power' means they fight," explained my four-year-old grandson with schoolmasterly gravity.

We were on the train coming north - he was spending a few days with us, all by himself - and I was finding out more than I ever wanted to know about Power Rangers. He's picked up this playground enthusiasm from older children, though I can't quite see why, they seem an amazingly charmless bunch, these space-age troubleshooters. Anyway, he set about educating me in this latest passion of his, by means of a colouring book and a magazine picked up (his choice) at King's Cross station.

Fortunately, he has other, kinder influences in his life and we loved having his company for the weekend. But those words of his set me thinking.

Look at the world around us, and you'd say he's absolutely right. 'Power' does mean you fight. The most powerful nation on earth is busily engaged in doing just that, and loudly declaring its intention to go on doing it. Politicians everywhere seem to think that fighting is what they're for, if it's only fighting factions within their own parties.

But then have a think about other images that the word power conjures up. How many of us know someone we would speak of as a 'gentle giant' - some big, powerfully-built man who's always kind and thoughtful, modest and considerate? I've known many in the course of my life. They have physical strength and muscular power, but feel no need to use it. Because of that they are loved and respected - and listened to.

Then there's that old story about the Sun and the Wind arguing as to who was most powerful. "I am," boasted the Wind. "See that man down there? Watch me blow his coat off with my breath!" He blew and he blew, but the man pulled his coat tighter around him, held it close, bent into the wind. "I can make him take his coat off just by being there," said the Sun, and popped out from behind a cloud. Sure enough, in a few short moments, the man had taken off his coat. It's an argument for gentleness, persuasion, cooperation.

Of course, not all world affairs can be conducted like that. But I still can't help thinking that if only the most powerful nations would behave more like those gentle giants - or that coaxing sun - then we'd all be better off. At the very least, they could give that method a try, before they rush into conflict. If they'd only leave behind the world-view of Power Rangers and grow up a bit, then there might be rather less hatred in the world and a good deal more cooperation.

Our grandson thinks he can tell jokes. He knows you ask a question, following it with a punch line. Unfortunately he hasn't quite got the hang of making the punch line funny. "What do monsters eat?" he'll ask brightly. "I don't know," you say. "What do monsters eat?" "Mashed potato!", he shouts, falling about laughing.

Early one morning I was woken by a little voice at my ear. "Nana, why do monkeys swing in trees?"

Inwardly groaning, I repeated the question. 'Why do monkeys swing in trees?" I braced myself for the punch line.

"No, Nana, why do monkeys swing in trees?"

Even worse than bad jokes first thing in the morning, is having to come up with a sensible answer to a serious question.

Published: 16/03/2006