My father turned 65 on Saturday, and sadly I wasn’t home in the 'Sota for the big shebang. On the blessed day, he grilled some burgers; drank a brandy Manhattan; and took Uncle Howdy, Aunt Barb (his sister), and his father for a ride through some Wisconsin wilderness on his John Deere four-wheelin’ Gator. No shame in keeping it simple.

I sent Dad a birthday card earlier in the week, stressing in great detail what a sage he is now and that he has earned the right to demand more from the world. But when I spoke with him on the Saturday, he didn’t seem so convinced. Perhaps it’s the fact that he has reached this milestone and is still working, still grinding, still rising at 6 a.m. I know better than to ask if he’s still clocking in because of the economy or because one of his biggest hobbies, Nordic skiing, is in jeopardy of being completely wiped out by global warming.

Of course he has other hobbies, such as chores: sweeping floors; power-washing deck furniture; and organizing his piles of unread books, clipped magazine articles, and gag gifts for stoic relatives at Christmas.

Last year I gave him a bocce ball set for his birthday. When I was in France years ago, I marveled at the peaceful old men with berets happily playing the game in the parks of Paris—why shouldn’t Daddy-o experience such old-world joy? Unfortunately, he’d just had a hernia operation, so during the inaugural game, he tossed a little too hard and nearly put himself back in the hospital. Those balls are heavy, which is actually a good thing because they now make great paperweights for his piles.

So this year when my courtside Lakers finals tickets didn’t come through for Pops (they would have been for game six or seven, so it would’ve been a moot point), I decided to give a gift to his future . . .

If you didn’t know, last Friday night at 11 p.m. (CST), Facebook allowed current users to create their own Facebook domain names. So instead of having a faceless number-letter combo, such as www.facebook.com/ profile.php?id=123454321, you could personalize it to be: www.facebook.com/davidanderson. That’s right, I logged in right at 11 p.m. and got my own name. A David Anderson in Alaska promptly sent me a message inquiring how I’d beaten him to it. I told him I’m the now the God-anointed "David Anderson" on the planet and that he best change his name for fear of living in my shadow for eternity.

Once I had my name, I logged on to my father’s Facebook account (a Christmas gift from me a few years ago) and was able to get www.facebook.com/brianeanderson. Pretty cool, huh?

Of course, when I told him of his gift, he was pretty shocked.

“How much did that cost you?”

“Don’t you worry your little gray head,” I told him. “You were worth it. This is a gift for your future. People will see by your domain name that you’re a serious Facebook user, and they will quickly seek to be your friend. Soon you’ll be inundated with friend requests, many of whom will introduce you to new hobbies and online adventures. You’ll discover the fun in communicating with your new friends through 'tweets,' learn things you never knew about yourself from Facebook quizzes, and trade favorite iPhone apps with your burgeoning online community.”

“I don’t have an iPhone,” he interrupted.

“Well,” I said, “sounds like a good retirement gift, then, huh?”