My mom was born 60 years ago. That’s a pretty big deal. She has seen a lot in her life. She remembers where she was when Kennedy was shot. She was in New York in the summer of 1969—she saw Neil Armstrong in the Ticker Tape Parade, and could have made it to Woodstock if she had wanted to. She marched in a war protest or two at college. She got married, a few years later my sisters and I joined the Bouskas.

I am very thankful for my mom. She has shown more steadfast, unconditional love to me than anyone else. I’ve offended her thousands of times, and her love for me is the same as it was on the day I was born. She has taught me right from wrong. She has been a faithful wife to my dad.

The more people I meet, the more I learn that these basic attributes of my mom (and my dad) are rarely the norm. So many people have no concept of right and wrong, they don’t know what commitment looks like because their parents have broken their “Till death do we part” vow, they have been unloved.

So I was up in Minnesota last week to celebrate her birth—complete with an oldies band and Warhol-style poster of her senior picture. It is a great way to honor her extraordinary life.