Today is my brother Stu’s birthday. It’s easy to remember, because it was also the day John F. Kennedy was assassinated. I think Stu is 47. A prime number totally unworthy of any special recognition.

I, of course, turned an ominous 50 a month ago, and Pam made a big deal out of it. As part of it, we had supper with her dad and my parents.

My parents are coming over in a few minutes. I was thinking about the fact that my mom turned 70 in August, but we didn’t do anything special. In fact, I can’t recall anyone celebrating turing 70, or 60 for that matter. But people resume the fanfare maybe at 80, certainly at 90 and 100.

Why’s that? Well, I pondered that, this being a day off from work and little else being available to occupy my mind.

When someone turns 40 or 50, we bring out the black stuff, and the birthday becomes a joke that “you’re getting old” or “you’re now over the hill.” It’s funny. But at 60 and 70–not so funny, because you actually are old and over the hill (sorry Mom). Then when 80 comes, it’s simply a matter of, “Wow,” a sentiment repeated with increasing emphasis at 90 and 100.

So those are my deep insights for today.