Krista's dispatch from Humboldt, Iowa,

We walk in right as the rodeo is starting. The stands are filled with people of all ages wearing cowboy hats and studded shirts. It's not a big place at all, just so you know. Probably the size of a high school gym. So we walk in and there is no room left in the stands...and you could feel the eyes on us. I guess we looked a bit different. None of us were wearing cowboy hats and I was wearing cashmere. So we stand in the middle of a break in the stands and the announcer begins the rodeo by introducing the first act. A woman enters the dirt arena, riding a horse and carrying a giant American flag, which she proudly waves above her studded American flag satin shirt. This is where things go downhill.

Now, you can imagine that two East Coasters, such as my mother and I would find this sight slightly amusing, but we were being good. Then the announcer, who has this perfect deep western twang, begins to tell the crowd that the woman on the horse is little Levi Boggs’ mother. Little Levi Boggs died this summer and the family is sponsoring the Rodeo.

Now, this is sad. Okay, I'm not the devil, this is sad...and I was feeling for this patriotic woman who lost her young son. But then the announcer, in his slow, western, and very dramatic drawl says something like, “Yes folks, little Levi would have loved being here tonight, but he lost his young life this summer. Little Levi would have been here tonight if he hadn't fallen off his pony.”

And this is where I lost it; this—horribly, I know—made me want to laugh....and I looked at my mom and she was covering her mouth with her hand and had the most pained look on her face. That's when I knew she was trying not to laugh too. And then I truly lost it. While it felt like all 300 people in the stands were staring at us, and I know the mother of little Levi was definitely looking at us, my mother and I proceeded to laugh…and laugh hard. One of those laughs that hurt just because you know you shouldn't be laughing...you know, a good church laugh. The worse part is all the while this is happening the announcer keeps going, keeps talking about Little Levi and his pony and everything he says makes me want to laugh harder. It was really the worst thing I've ever done. It's a miracle my mother and I weren't chased out and beaten outside with horse manure.

The tribute finally ends with the announcer saying, “Little Levi, this one's for you...” and I'm pleading with my parents, ”We have to leave...we have to go...” because I'm sure the minute I look up I'll have hundreds of horrified Iowa eyes peering at me. But we didn't leave, we just huddled together until the rodeo started and enough time had passed and Budweiser had been drunk by the crowd that we hoped everyone had forgotten our terrible terrible tragic laughing.

If I ever go to a rodeo again I'll be sure I go in 15 minutes late and have a cowboy hat to cover my face in case I'm ever struck hysterical again by a young boy's tragic end.

This one goes out to little Levi.