Women’s Day or Festa della Donna (in Italy)

In Italy today is the festa della donna’s day. It is one of the sweetest memories of my childhood and early womanhood. Supposedly, March 8 is a day where women receive from their men (fathers, spouses, brothers, and friends) a special gift, a "bunch" of mimosa, a tree that happens to flourish around this period of the year. The Festa della Donna is a special day to remember the struggles, past and present, women underwent and undergo throughout their history.

Aside from the romantic edge of the day, I would advise women to think of March 8 as a day about reflection on the roles they have in their society and how they can shape their world (please forget about the Hillary Clinton’s saga; do not take it like a model!).

However, there is also a vulgar side of March 8: eating and drinking at a local restaurant, and watching male strippers who perform for into-heat women. These deeds, for say, are not wrong, but they are wrong on March 8. Do women really need to get drunk the day where they are celebrated for their courage and intelligence? Do women really need to see men showing their pseudoinflated penis under their nose in a day in which females celebrate their freedom from the males’ subjection? The attachment to the phallic scenario some women demonstrate during this day is more a regression to a primitive status of their unnatural condition than a progression of their autonomy.

March 8 should be something more than touching a well-shaped arse of a young and hot man. It should be a day for women to engage themselves in a serious critical thinking. Generally, women are proud of their independence and the possibility they earned to decide on their lives. Is it not looking at a male’s muscles a fair way for women to sing their freedom.

I never went to watch a stripper, and I never got drunk that night, but I saved the mimosa my grandfather every year bought for me. I saved here, in my heart, the memories… I can still see my grandpa, my man, carrying a bunch of mimosa under his arm. He used to tell me, “one day you will be a good woman!” Then he handed me the bunch of flowers.

I don’t know if I became a “good woman”, but whatever he is now… grandpa’ (nonno, an Italian noun dear, dear to me), thank you for all the flowers and for having always believed in me!