They made me sit behind the wheel again.
“A woman must learn how to drive,”
they said, condescendingly,
“Learn how to be independent.”
I silently chuckled as they failed to comprehend
The inherent irony of their claims;
As they took me on a road I didn’t recognize,
To a destination I had no inkling of.
As I struggled to find my way
On the path they chose for me,
Their loud lamentations deafened my ears,
And their passionate protests clasped my mind.
“Women are such bad drivers,”
They derisively exclaimed,
“They have no sense of direction, I say!”
I listened to them silently,
Filled not with rage, but a surprising determination.
Oh, I will sit behind the wheel again;
I will learn how to drive.
I will learn how to drive when I’m guided
By the music of the clouds in the clear blue sky,
Not the jeers of my backseat drivers.
I will learn how to drive
When I choose my own path and destination,
Not when I have to follow another’s directions.
I will surely learn how to drive
When independence is a necessary link
In the chain of my existence,
Not a skill to be learned,
And definitely not a boon to be granted.