My Dad, A Man Outstanding in His Field

My father once received a birthday card that I will never forget.  The card itself was simple.  On the front of the card was a picture of a wheat field.  In the middle of the field was a cartoon character of a little guy, standing right in the middle of the field.  Inside, the card read simply, “To a Man Who Is Outstanding in His Field.” To many this card may have seemed cute, the play on words and all, but to us it held a deeper meaning, for our dad was truly both, a man out standing in his field, and a man outstanding in his field.

When I think back on my memories of Dad, I see him out walking in the fields of our farm.  A familiar phrase at our house when Dad’s whereabouts were questioned was “He’s in the back 40.”  I don’t think I even knew what it meant exactly, but I did know that it meant that he was out in his field somewhere.  I honestly don’t know if he would ever be truly happy unless he could be out standing in his field somewhere.

There are many things that make our dad outstanding.  For one thing, he was always ahead of his time.  He could have made a million dollars several times … except for the fact of bad timing.  For example, he had the karaoke machine beat by several years.  Back in 1970, he thought of somehow hooking up his old reel-to-reel tape recorder and amplifier to his stereo turntable.  From that, he attached a microphone and carefully hung it over a ceiling beam in our basement.  Voila! His rendition of the karaoke machine.  Kathy and I sang down there for hours, our voices being amplified together with the already recorded music from his records.  We would certainly be the next Lynn Anderson and Jeanie C. Riley, at least he had no doubts!

His idea may have caught on, had Kathy and I continued, but alas, an untimely purchase of a “Partridge Family” album in 1971 put an end to our love of country music as our eyes and ears were opened to the sounds of the 70’s.  We became teenagers.

When my brother, Scott was graduating from diapers, my mom purchased a little stool called the “Johnny Step”.  Evidently, he had constructed something similar for Kathy and me years before.  Here again, years later, someone had taken an idea that my dad had, and made it into something.  I remember my mom telling him that he should have patented his idea.  However, she also mentioned that he would have probably called it the “Tommy Step” which just didn’t have the right ring to it.

Another thing that makes our dad outstanding, or unique, is his “look”.  There are no words to describe it, but all of us kids knew exactly what it was and what it meant.  He just had a way of looking at us that just made us want to do what was right – not that we always did what was right, but we definitely never wanted to see that look.  He didn’t have to hit us or anything.  The look was worse than physical pain.  I guess it was a combination of disappointment, sadness and anger.  But whatever it was, he had it down to a science.

The look was conveyed to others on occasion.  I remember one of Kathy’s friends mentioning that the “McLaughlin’s sure have a mean dad!”  Now, he never actually threatened any of our dates, but one of the looks was sufficient.  Not too many people asked us out more than once, but whether that was his fault or something wrong with us, we’ll never know!  But needless to say, we didn’t have too many male visitors during our teen years.

To be fair, he had another look as well - one that was a mixture of love, compassion and contentment. One of those looks is impossible to describe in words as well, but when received, so very appreciated and savored.  

Dad had an artistic ability that we won’t likely forget.  I can’t really describe it, but I can see it ever so plainly in my mind.  Once, one of these “ugly” drawings appeared in our phone book…obviously a doodle of some kind while he was talking on the phone.  There was a caption underneath which simply read, "mik”.  He emphatically denied being the artist, but everyone knew it.  It had his style written all over it.  A couple years ago, while having a conversation with my brother Scott, he mentioned a card he had received from Dad that had one of those special faces on it.  He thought that it was great, and we agreed that to us, they are priceless.

He, being an outstanding dad, was of course always looking out for our safety.  When they got the old falcon for Kathy and me to drive, he had it painted what he called poppy red, but what was actually more like hunter orange.  People from all around north Spokane County could now see us coming from miles away.   I will never forget that he took me all the way to Colville (twice!) to get my driver’s license just so I wouldn’t have to drive in the big scary city of Spokane.  What a guy!  I do remember however, having to sweep off the passenger seat for the policeman to sit down.  It had remnants of Bull Durham tobacco all over it - but then again, what didn't?

One day, my mom and dad were in my room, browsing at my poster covered walls.  I had one of those “Keep on Truckin'” posters from the 70’s.  Mom said “What do you suppose that means?”  Dad answered, sounding knowledgeable and very confident.  He said, “You know, it means keep on driving a truck.”

One spring day in Ellensburg, Kathy and I received an unexpected package from Dad.  It wasn’t from Mom either, just from him.  It was a gift box from Hickory Farms.  It wasn’t for a birthday or anything special that we could think of.  It was just because.  Anyway, we were the hit of the dorm that day, especially with the guys.  I know that neither of us will ever forget that day!

I guess after we all grew up, things changed, as things do.  And even though we don’t always mention them often, I’m certain that we remember all of those old times.  Whether it was playing “Hot Potato”, singing "Alouette" when it was raining, or simply waving to him in his jeep over the bluff.  I can see it in his eyes, one of those looks for which he is famous.

Making memories cannot be “planned”.  They are made from everyday things that just happen over the years…the best things are remembered…and the other junk is more or less weeded out somehow.  And that is the way it should be.

We are fortunate.  We have great memories of our dad, who will always be a man “outstanding” in his field – in every sense of the word. 

McLaughlin Family Farm in Deer Park, Washington