I had forgotten it was Oldies Music Party Time at the 55+ “active adult” apartment complex where I live. Usually it’s an extremely quiet and peaceful place — live oaks, woods and salt marsh surround my building. And the clubhouse is mostly quiet too. Except on certain days.

I walked into that big room aiming to pick up my mail, and was greeted by the ear-splitting volume of an immortal song from 1969, and seniors twisting around and bopping to the beat, as best they could. Seemed like slow motion gyrations to me, but by that time the party was in high gear and the curmudgeon in me was coming out to survey the scene and put the brakes on any loss of inhibition I might suddenly be contemplating.

As I quickened my pace to the mail room, I instinctively covered my ears. I mean, I’ve never heard music so loud in there before.

As I was heading back out through the perspiring oldsters having a ball and digging the 60s tunes, a lady I didn’t know asked me if I was enjoying the dance music.

“”It’s too loud,” I groaned with a half grin, mostly glad I was on my way out.

“Oh, you sound like an old man,” she laughingly retorted.

“That’s because I AM an old man,” I said only half seriously, laughing back. “ At least I can admit it.” Oh, what a curmudgeonly grouch I must have sounded like.

For the briefest moment just before I reached the door, I thought about turning back and joining that little merry band of over 55’s, some of whom were actually younger than me.

I’d show them. I’d be out there by the DJ table jumping and gesticulating to the sounds of “Born to be Wild,” Soon, I imagined, it would be just me, dazzling the crowd with my foot-loose dancing as they assembled around me in a circle, clapping in admiration and goading me on.

Sighs. Instead, the heavy glass doors closed behind me, and it was quiet again as I walked to my car with my mail and Amazon packages. The last thing I heard was the roar Peter Fonda’s motorcycle.

Those were the days!