There are birthdays… and then there are birthdays that mark a turning point.

I would turn 60 on Thursday, August 9, 2018. Sixty. A number that sounds older when you say it out loud than it feels in your bones. By then, life had already taken me through its share of highs and heartbreaks, career pivots, family milestones, and personal rebuilding. But what happened the weekend before that birthday became one of the sweetest surprises of my life.  It started quietly.

A Day at Minnehaha Falls

On Saturday, August 4th, Pam’s parents — Roger and Marlene — were in town. Pam and I had been dating for a little over a year at that point. We weren’t engaged yet (that would come later, on November 18th, in San Francisco), but we were building something real. Something steady. Something hopeful.

We spent that afternoon at Minnehaha Falls. If you’ve ever been there in the summer, you know the magic of it. The water spilling 53 feet over limestone cliffs. The shaded trails. The hum of families, couples, joggers, and photographers capturing sunlight through mist. It was one of those perfect Minnesota afternoons — warm, green, alive.

We wandered. We talked. We laughed. It felt easy. But somewhere in the background, I could hear conversations happening. Pam and her parents were quietly coordinating something for the next day. I caught fragments. Words like “family” and “tomorrow.” It sounded like a gathering.  Then I realized something.  I wasn’t invited.

The Feeling of Being Left Out

We had been together over a year. I thought I was part of things by then. So when I pieced together that there was a family get-together happening — and I wasn’t included — it stung.  Not dramatically. Not loudly. But quietly.

There are certain emotional bruises that don’t take much to press on. My 50th birthday had come and gone with barely a whisper — forgotten entirely by the person who was supposed to remember it most. That memory lingered somewhere deep. So when I sensed I was being excluded again, even unintentionally, it brought back an old ache.

I was told to come over Sunday afternoon. Around 3 or 4 o’clock.  “Okay,” I thought. “I guess I’ll just show up later.” Little did I know.

The Reveal

I remember driving over in my convertible that Sunday afternoon. The top down. August sun overhead. I pulled onto the road to where the rental house where Pam was living at the time.  And then I saw it. A tent.  Tables. Cars lining the street.  People moving around.  For a split second, my brain tried to compute what I was seeing. Then it hit me. They weren’t gathering without me.  They were gathering for me. I was completely surprised given it was the 5th of August.

All the conversations. All the secrecy. All the coordination. Pam’s family hadn’t been excluding me — they had been preparing a surprise 60th birthday party. And I lost it.  I don’t mean I teared up politely. I mean I completely broke down. Full emotion. No holding it back. Sixty years of life — with all its twists and turns — met in that moment. Pam came to share that emotion with me in a hug.

No one had ever done something like this for me before.  Not like this.  Not with this much thought.  Not with this much heart.

The People Who Showed Up

As I stepped out of the car and gathered myself, I began to take it all in.  My son Jake was there — and Talia.  Grant was there. My mom was there.  My brother Chuck was there with his wife, Terry. Their family. Kent and Michelle. Pam’s parents, Roger and Marlene, smiling from ear to ear.  Friends we were building new memories with.  Work friends.  People from different chapters of my life — all under one tent.

There were tables set out front under the big tent. More seating in the backyard. Decorations carefully placed. Food laid out. Music playing softly in the background. It wasn’t extravagant — it was thoughtful. Which is far more powerful.

The cake? A Spider-Man cake. Pam knew that was an important part of my childhood. There’s something wonderfully symbolic about that. Spider-Man — the everyday hero. The guy balancing responsibility, setbacks, perseverance, and heart. Maybe she saw something in me I was still rediscovering myself.

Sixty candles. Sixty years.  And a second chance at joy.

The Contrast

What made the day even more meaningful was the contrast.  Ten years earlier, my 50th birthday had passed almost unnoticed. Forgotten. Overlooked. That moment had quietly communicated something painful — that I didn’t matter the way I thought I did. This moment said the opposite. You matter. You are seen. You are celebrated. The difference between those two birthdays wasn’t about age. It was about love.

By 2018, I had walked through loss. Divorce. Financial rebuilding. Identity rebuilding. There were years when confidence had to be reconstructed brick by brick. And here I was, standing in front of a tent filled with people who had chosen to show up. It felt like redemption.

More Than a Party

We ate. We laughed. We played games. Conversations drifted from table to table. Stories were told. Old memories revisited. New ones created. It wasn’t just a party. It was a statement. It was Pam saying, “I see you.” It was her family saying, “You belong.” It was my family saying, “We’re still here.”

And at 60 years old, belonging means more than it ever did at 30. When you’re young, birthdays are about momentum — what’s ahead, what’s possible. At 60, birthdays are about gratitude — what’s survived, what’s endured, what’s been rebuilt. I remember standing there at one point, looking out under that white tent, watching people laugh in small clusters. The sun dipping lower in the sky. A gentle Minnesota evening breeze moving the edges of the canopy.

And I thought, “This is what grace looks like.” Not perfection. Not a flawless life. But restoration.

The Beginning of Something Steady

We weren’t engaged yet. That would happen later that fall in California. But in many ways, that August afternoon felt like a preview of the life Pam and I were building. Family centered. Intentional. Celebratory. Grounded in thoughtfulness.

It’s easy to overlook what steady love looks like because it doesn’t shout. It shows up early. It sets up tents. It decorates rental homes. It bakes Spider-Man cakes. And sometimes it lets you think you’re being excluded — so it can surprise you with inclusion.

Sixty and Stronger

Turning 60 wasn’t about getting older. It was about recognizing that life can surprise you again. That joy can return in places where disappointment once lived. That family can expand. That tears can come — not from pain — but from gratitude.

That was the gift of August 2018. Sixty candles. A tent in the yard. A convertible pulling up to a surprise. A Spider-Man cake. And a man who realized that after everything — he was still deeply loved.

If life is written in posts, that one deserves to be pinned at the top. Because sometimes, the most meaningful chapters don’t come when everything is perfect. They come when you’ve walked through enough storms to fully appreciate the sunshine under a white tent on a warm Minnesota afternoon.