My mother was the life of her 100th birthday party.

She also was the star in our little family band — three children, one daughter-in-law, five grandchildren, three grandchildren’s spouses and five great-grandchildren — who gathered at Zody’s 19th Hole, a popular restaurant at the E. Gaynor Brennan Municipal Golf Course in our hometown of Stamford, Connecticut, to honor Mom on her turn of the century.

Mom doesn’t play golf, but she’s definitely a champion, which, as I said, is the “fairway” to describe her.

She rolled her beautiful blue eyes at yet another of her son’s silly jokes.

I am the one who saddled her with a 10-month pregnancy and set the now-70-year-old, never-to-be-broken Stamford Hospital record as the most overdue baby. I was born more than three weeks past my due date and haven’t been on time for anything since. I was even late to the party.

I also was born during a blizzard and, as Mom agreed, have been perpetrating snow jobs ever since.

And I’m the wayward child who, much to Mom’s chagrin, fell in love with the Three Stooges and have grown up, loosely speaking, to become a newspaper columnist whose work has no redeeming social value.

For all of that, Mom long ago forgave me.

Still, she bears some responsibility for my admittedly offbeat sense of humor, which I inherited from her and my late father, the original and best Jerry Zezima.

Asked to make a wish when she cut the first slice of her birthday cake, Mom said, “I want everyone here to be happy, healthy and” — a pause and a smile — “funny.”

Asked to what she attributes her longevity, she said, “Clean living and a good sense of humor. It’s a little distorted, but that’s OK.”

It’s also warm and gentle, as she showed when our terrific server, Alexis, asked my mother if she would mind meeting another birthday girl, Grace, who was celebrating her first year of life with her own party at the restaurant.

Mom and Grace, 99 years and just as many smiles between them, really hit it off.

“You’re beautiful!” Mom told Grace, who extended a tiny hand so my mother could kiss it.

Both were dressed to the nines — or, considering we were at a golf course, the front and back nines. Grace was adorable in a pink and white checkered dress and a white party hat topped with a pompom. Mom was resplendent in a shimmering gold dress with a sash that appropriately featured the number 100. She also wore a crown.

“Grace is already more mature than I am,” I noted.

Mom nodded and said, “Who isn’t?”

That got a laugh from Alexis, who told me, “Your mom is amazing!”

Alexis is familiar with Zezima zaniness because she is “half-Zezima” on her mother’s side. “That makes us something like fourth cousins twice removed,” Alexis said.

“Everyone wants me removed, but I keep finding my way back,” I said.

“We can’t get rid of him,” Mom told Alexis.

The party was breaking up, but it continued at my mother’s house, where all 18 of us shared stories, photos and, of course, laughs.

The great-grandkids played a central role in the festivities, marching through the house with three big gold balloons, a “1,” a “0” and another “0,” brought back from the restaurant along with the rest of the cake, four floral centerpieces and a large corkboard filled with family photos, new and old, including a picture of my mother on the morning of her first Holy Communion when she was a kid.

“And I had my confirmation in the afternoon,” she recalled like it was yesterday. “I kept God busy.”

Mom, also known as Nini to her grandchildren and Gigi to her great-grandchildren, pointed to her prized possession, an embroidered pillow given to her last Christmas by two of her great-granddaughters. It reads:“Thank you for being my Gigi. If I had a different Gigi, I would punch her in the face and go find you.”

It was a day to remember for a mother, a grandmother and a great-grandmother who is beloved by her family and admired by all who know her.

Cheers to Rosina Zezima! One hundred years young and still the life of the party.

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