{Think}:David Yi

[EDIT: My father's handicap is actually 9. SORRY DAD! "Seventeen is for beginners, son," he said.]

Today is my father’s birthday.

Usually on these annual brisk October 5 days I would have completely forgotten to wish my father a good day and would have received a call right after the passing of the date from my own mother, explaining how disappointed she was for my lack of thought and consideration.

But this year was different: this year I actually set an alarm to make that call.

My dad, who is a ripened 55 this year, an avid competitive golfer with a handicap that’s less than 9 and who two weeks ago was looking for senior citizen golf sets, was more than thrilled when I called. I could imagine his eyes glowing and his mouth parting as wide as a misty rainbow from his animated voice over the phone.

And after all these years of forgetting this most special day, or,  after years of picking out the wrong sweater vests, I realized that it didn’t matter that his clumsy son of his failed to send a box of golf balls or even a simple card every year. To him, all that really mattered were those two succinct words: “happy birthday.”

Two weeks ago when I was in Colorado, my dad gave me a bottle of Jack Daniels with a bright message imprinted in a dismal and dull shade of white. It was the first gift from my father that involved alcohol and I must admit, was a little taken aback and dismayed. But closely scrutinizing the fine print said it all:

David Yi

I love you son.

From Daddy 9/26/09.

Here’s a shot to you my father. Your hair may be a little grayer, your skin may be a little looser, and your vision may slowly fade, but in my eyes, father, you are like whiskey–tested with time, made resilient from experience, aged closer to being the perfect father you always strived to be.

I love you too, dad!