It has been said that you learn everything you need to know in Kindergarten. What the hippies who say that mean is we learn the basics of humanity at age 5. My daughter is the exception. Kindergarten taught her how to work with others and be part of a community, but it also taught her about The Man, how he's keeping her down, and what she needs to do to rise above. The shocking truth about the world hit her in the first week.

"Guess what I learned today, Dad?"

"What?"

"Women can't be priests."

"That's true," I said.

"Guess what else? Women can't be The Pope, either."

She was angry. Not "my brother took the last cookie" angry. This was Rage Against the Machine angry. We sat down for a glass of milk in the kitchen. Her school uniform was immaculate, but her nails were bit to nubs. I was sweating, which is not uncommon, but this time it was with purpose. I was about to explain injustice and hatred to my 5-year-old daughter. I thought it was too soon.

It is never too soon.

I told her that men have oppressed women since the sun first rose in the sky. We talked about suffrage, human trafficking, the glass ceiling and the presence of sexism in professional sports, advertising and nearly every other aspect of American culture and commerce. The conversation inevitably found its way to the oppression of ethnic minorities, homosexuals, and the poor. We tried to reconcile how the Catholic Church could preach compassion and kindness while remaining a bastion of intolerance to those who are different.

While I held back tears I noticed not a drop fell down her cheek. I realized that many of the abuses I explained to her have been vanquished through dedication and vigilance. People can only take so much suffering before they fight back. The world inches toward equality when the oppressed rise up. Power and money will never suffocate the artists who challenge injustice. And while those artists rage with their songs and paintings and verses, everyday people who lack the blessing of eloquence do their part by voting their conscience and raising their children to be inquisitive and fair.

"Things get better," I said.

Women earned the right to vote. Birth control and abortion are legal. Equal pay, while still elusive, is a recognized right. Women are welcome on the Supreme Court, they can be astronauts, and can have credit cards in their own names. (That might sound trivial, but it's only been true since the Equal Credit Opportunity Act of 1974).

There is still a ton of work to be done.

The U.S. is the only developed country that doesn't require  companies to offer paid paternity leave. Women only hold about 20 percent of Senate seats and make up only 4 percent of Fortune 500 CEOs. And, much to my daughter's dismay, they still can't be Catholic priests or popes.

Now she's in second grade. She turned 8 on New Year's Day. This week she asked me if the "bad guy" is going to win the presidency. I reasoned "bad guy" was schoolyard slang for Donald Trump.

"The guy with the weird hair," she said.

It's hard for me to stay optimistic when a man who despises women, immigrants and science has the support of so many Americans. So I leaned on a philosophy given to me when I was her age in the pages of Marvel comic books. I told her that everyone - from plumbers to presidents - have power. And if we all use the power we have we can change anything, even an election.

"What does Spider-Man say about power," I asked.

She didn't miss a beat.

"With great power comes great responsibility."