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SALT LAKE CITY — I grew up in Idaho: home of famous potatoes and cows. Rather, famous potatoes; and also in the state (sometimes next to the potatoes) there were cows. They were not famous.
My father liked to take the family out for long drives in the family Suburban to see the sights. Most of the sights were fields, trees, hills, a few mountains, ditches and then fields. Also, I should mention fields with ditches bordered by more fields and ditches.
Birds and elk
Sometimes there was an elk or a bird in a tree. The bird was in the tree. The elk was wherever the elk was — but never in a tree. If the elk had been in the tree then I wouldn’t be writing this lousy memory on fields and ditches but on the cool elk we saw scaling a lodge pole pine, swinging from evergreen to evergreen in the wilds of Idaho. That would be a Prodigal Dad column, I tell ya.
But, no. It was a bird in the tree. My father would stop and look at it for hours. Hours. At a bird in the tree. And for some odd reason, I could never see it but every single one of my evil sisters could.
It’s not that I was incredibly interested in the birds of the greater Shelly and Firth metro area — population 12,000. I was just not going to be left out of the future conversation where everyone else got to see the miraculous bird in the magnificent tree.
“Everyone had a great time on that fine excursion. We all wrote to grandma about the drive that culminated in the viewing of the flora and fauna of wondrous nature that was enjoyed by all ... except little Davison. He didn’t see the bird.”
Carlotta, the evil sister they had anointed as their queen, would always spot the bird right away. Then she would run off to be the first in line to enjoy the freshness of a clean restroom, first for the square ice cream shack where she would bask in the creamy newness of the first scoop, or first at the snack counter where she would get her choice of candy and comics.
I would be last and get the soggy and the sloppy — sorry, were all out and you'll have to share with your sister.
Carlotta-the-evil later told me (after she had outgrown the evil thing) that she had never seen anything Dad ever pointed out — that her proficiency at spotting wildlife was all a maniacal ruse.
The secret she told me, spilling years-old beans, was to acknowledge the beautiful bird or the mysterious moose or the chattering chipmunk, which allowed Dad to feel like Ranger Roger, and then she'd be on her merry way.
Excruciating cows
My children have learned this tactic all too quickly. Driving along the country lane I have become my dad. I point out to them the interesting cows alongside the road. They point out to me that my saying “interesting cows” is like saying “appetizing barf” or “satisfying hang nails.”
Still, I am thrilled with the appearance of each and every bovine, quacking duck or jumping fish. My wife feigns interest with a smile, which is mostly because while sitting next to me in the van she isn't cleaning or doing dishes. The kids simply droan, “Yes Dad, we see them,” without looking up from their I-stuff.
Me: “I really like the black and white ones. They look just like the cows on the commercial!”
“Yes Dad, how lovely,” they say.
Me: “The brown ones give chocolate milk, ya know.”
“And if you shake them you get a milkshake. Yes Dad, we know,” they say.
Me: “Look! Birds!”
“Thanks again, Dad,” they say. They are just not impressed with the cow/ fields/ditches thing.
I wonder why I am so enamored of the thing myself? Maybe I had a better time on those drives than I wanted to. Maybe hanging out with my dad and the family was more enjoyable than I remembered. Maybe I just want to share something with my own family that belonged to me and my dad.
So I will insist that the young'ens pull all of the wiring for sound out of their ears and put the screens away — at least until the mountain goat with her kids have crossed the road in front of us. I might make my own kids get up close and personal with a beaver dam when we're through.
My wife and I will enjoy the drive while children swap tunes on their devil machines. Sometimes we talk about them because they can't hear us with those things in their ears. We can solve the world's problems on one drive through the ...
Stop! Look honey! Elk in a tree!
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Cheney writes the "Prodigal Dad" family column weekly for ksl.com. He grew up in Idaho Falls. See his other writings at davisoncheneymegadad.blogspot.com and Twitter @DavisonCheney.*
