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.