My Least Favorite "Holiday"

Every Mormon congregation celebrates Pioneer Day. Growing up in the south, I knew no one else to "celebrate" this day besides the few mormons within 50 miles of me, so I've always been hesitant to call it a "holiday." Besides, us southern mormons never celebrated it on the same date every year. We just did something on the closest Saturday evening. (Keep in mind that we couldn't get too wild and crazy on a Saturday night. Still have church the next morning! For twenty hours!)

Years went by before I discovered that Pioneer Day is a legit official holiday in the state of Utah. It is celebrated on July 24th. So there, now I can call it a "holiday." From what I understand, it can sometimes be more like a Mormon Comic-Con. (That might possibly be a wee-bit of an exaggeration.)

I've never really fit in with mormon culture, but Pioneer Day is quite possibly the thing I hate most about mormon culture.

Now, I know I shouldn't hate on my ancestors, and we can't be too harsh on the people that did some serious work on settling the western half of the United States. I have no problem commending them for that, but I've always very strongly disliked Pioneer Day.

Everyone has played the Oregon Trail. (I mostly only had the privilege of watching my siblings play it on the ole Packard Bell.) All of the stories about pioneers I were ever told now seem overly sensationalized, dripping with sappy, emotional appeals. Some of the most famous pioneers are those of the Willie and Martin Handcart Company. In the church, they're well-known for their noble endurance and faith through incredible disasters and hardships. Their inspiring stories often sneak their way into General Conference addresses. However, I once did some research on pioneers for a middle-school project. I discovered that the real reason they had so many hardships was because of painfully poor planning and horrendous decision making. When you decide to walk across the country without enough provisions during the absolute worst time of year, folks iz gon' die. and a lot of 'em. My distaste for Pioneer Day was already there, but this enhanced it.

I even hated Pioneer Day as a small child.

My stake once has a huge, two-day Pioneer celebration at a local campground.  Everyone was to dress up as 1840s pioneers for a short "pioneer trek" to commemorate the first group of Mormons entering the Salt Lake Valley. (I'll be honest, I had no idea that was what I was "celebrating" then. All I knew was there were some songs I sang in primary about some pioneers.) My father spent hours and hours building handcarts out of scavenged wood to make the trek as "authentic" as possible. There was to be square-dancing, cooking in dutch-ovens, and tons of hand-crafted, hot, itchy clothing to wear. (Keep in mind that I live in the most hot and humid part of the country.)

First of all, I was a total tomboy. I wore athletic shorts and nary donned a t-shirt that did not profess my love for sports. I had two hairstyles: ponytail or down with tangles. Needless to say, the absolute last thing I wanted to dress up as was a woman from the 1840s. THEY DIDN'T EVEN WEAR PANTS!

I would never voluntarily make myself look like this.

My aunt did the most classic Mormon thing ever: sewed me a bonnet to wear with her own two hands. If you don't understand, you don't understand, but nothing gets as Mormon-y as that.

And. I. hated. it. I can remember the pattern of the fabric to this day. I remember how those horrid seams felt between my fingers.

I straight up refused to wear it. There was no way in hades I was going to dress up as a pioneer. If I remember correctly, my very non-traditional-mormon mother didn't even fight me on it. I dare say she didn't blame me one bit. We may have even schemed together on how to resolve the problem.

And so that was the year I showed up to the Pioneer Day celebration as the pioneer family dog. The only dog costume we had in the closet turned me into a dalmatian. I'm sure pioneer families had dogs, but I'm not so sure they had dalmatians.

It wasn't a horribly traumatic experience. I had fun. Others found me somewhat entertaining. I took a nap in the handcart under a white sheet canopy. My siblings and I could take any circumstance and create some fun. Besides, what kid doesn't enjoy dressing up like a dog, thereby having every excuse to act like one? Crawling around panting with my tongue hanging out and barking at people wasn't a bad time at all. Dutch-ovens can produce some tasty food. Becoming the world's only square-dancing pioneer dalmatian wasn't a bad gig.

Nonetheless, I loathe Pioneer Day.


--Lady Jae