The old cowhand from the Rio Grande
This week is rodeo week here in our fair city, as it has been since 1925. Our rodeo is called La Fiesta de los Vaqueros, which I guess would be the festival or celebration of the cowboys in English. All the usual suspects in the world of rodeo cowboying are here this week for the rodeo.
Among the events during rodeo week, is the rodeo parade, billed as the longest non-mechanized parade in the United States. All entries are required to be horse-drawn vehicles or riders on horseback. Each year two hundred thousand citizens of our fair city line the parade route to watch the procession of entries. The schools are closed, so probably three quarters of the audience is kids.
This morning we met Daughter Sneed and Sneedlet One at a mall parking lot, where we were able to catch the parade shuttle bus to the area where the parade concludes. The parking for the parade is limited and the traffic in the area is horrific before and after the event, so the city provides a shuttle service from the area malls and back. The round-trip fare is just a dollar.
We arrived at the finish area, bought seats in the grandstands and waited for the first entry to reach us. It was cold, but by the time the parade started it was warm and then uncomfortably warm.
The parade began and we were having a great time. About 20 minutes after it started, the procession simply stopped. After a minute or so the announcer said that it would resume shortly. The entries that had reach us continued on eventually disappearing from sight, with none replacing them. I got up from my seat and walked down the street to see what was going on.
Nothing was happening, no riders or wagons were in sight. However, after a minute or so, a wagon, loaded with people came down the block, turned and left the parade route. I assumed it had mechanical trouble and that it had been the reason for the stoppage. I waked back to where everyone was sitting and reported what I thought I knew.
Eventually, things began to move again and by the end of the parade we were glad it was over. My perception is that parades are usually about one-third too long. When they say that our parade is the longest non-mechanized parade in the country, they mean it.
On the bus ride back to the mall I called my friend Greg, who rode his horse in the parade, to see if he saw us yelling at him as he passed by. He didn't immediately answer my question, but instead asked me if I had heard about the accident. He told me that a child riding in the parade had been killed by one of the horses. Greg was clearly upset.
The little girl killed in the accident was from the community of Sonoita, AZ. Sonoita is in an area of high grassland, about 5000 feet in elevation, located just north of the Mexican border. Many children there are as accustomed to horseback as children in cul-de-sac are to their bikes. It is a way of life to them.
The child was riding a horse in the parade and the accident occurred when a wagon drawn by a team of horses, collided with her. She was thrown and trampled. She was five-years old and must have been so excited to be able to participate in the parade.
Almost immediately blame reared its head.
In moments like this people point fingers and lots of folks proclaim themselves experts on who should have done what to prevent the accident. People looking in at the situation feel indignation and rage and think they know exactly who is at fault. It is our nature to express our anger by lashing out I suppose.
People caught inside this tragedy feel emotions that no one should ever have to experience, and that no one on the outside can understand, believe me, the Sneeds know. The principals in this tragedy don't need the recriminations of outsiders to identify what they could have done differently, they know full well.
Tonight the controversy centers on the child's age and her fitness to be riding alone in a parade. She was in a group of family and friends, but alone on a large animal, a large skittish animal. The regulations for the parade barred riders under eight, but that age limit is simply arbitrary. An eight, twelve or twenty year-old rider is no match for the mass of a 1500 pound horse. Watch any rodeo and you will see that trampling is always a cowboy's worst fear.
Mom and Dad brought their little cowgirl to the parade, expecting an experience they would always remember. These were experienced horse people, not cowboys for a day. I'm sure that the parade committee wanted this to be the best parade ever, one that they would never forget. Now, no one can forget, no matter how desperately they wish they could.
Sometimes terrible things happen to people just trying their best and no amount of wouldas, couldas or shouldas will change a thing.
Merle
Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgemental and cranky
Tag: Daily Life
Personal Finance
Humor
3 comments:
oh Merle thats so sad. My heart goes out to these parents.
Merle, I wonder if the blame /anger after a tragic accident is an american phenom. In Ireland I see people griefstricken over accidents and yet there is never blame or anger interfering with their grief.
For example a tourist driving on the wrong side of the road (not used to driving on the left, after a turn, he got into the wrong lane) anyway he struck and killed my friend's son. No one blamed the tourist ( who was absolutely out of his mind and sobbing over what he'd done) no one blamed him because it is common for tourists who have driven on the right all their lives to get mixed up) for some people, driving on the left requires constant focus. The Irish are focused when it comes to grieving, they grieve. period. no blame.
I call it the new Zero Tolerance for Humanity, especially when it is something that could have happened to anyone, at any time.
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