Standing in his bathrobe, he screamed out loud, jumped backwards and hit the bathroom door with his back. 

I was in the bathtub, curled up on pillows and wrapped in a blanket. 

When I think of my friend, Charlie, that’s one of the first memories that come to mind. You see, Charlie had this snoring problem, and when we went on this trip together one time, his snoring in the hotel room got so bad that I ended up going into the bathroom in the wee hours of the morning and curling up in the tub. 

Needless to say, he was a bit startled the next morning. 

He and I joked about that incident for years. Then there was the time when we went on a trip together with a group of about 20 people. We decided to go sightseeing on our own, and we got lost in the mountains of West Virginia. 

When we got back late that night, and our friends came out to make sure we were okay, Charlie and I made up a story on the spur of the moment. We said our rental car broke down in the middle of nowhere, and we ended up eating at a nudist camp in the woods while our car was being fixed. Oh, and we played volleyball with the nudists, too, we told our friends. 

The funny part about this is that when I started making up the story, Charlie jumped right in, adding to the story. It wasn’t until nearly a year later that we told our friends we had made it up. 

And then, not too long ago, while on yet another trip with a group of people, we were in a mall when we both saw a store that specialized in hologram pictures, which are the ones that look 3-D when you look into them. Well, we must have held up the group for an hour while bounced through the store like children. 

I ended up getting a Star Trek 3-D photo, and Charlie got those 3-D glasses that make your eyes look bloodshot. 

When I tell people about Charlie, they often ask if Charlie was my younger brother, or perhaps a college student, or even a teen-ager. But we was none of those. 

He was 64 years old. 

Charlie was grand proof of something I’ve always believed. You are only as old as your heart. And Charlie had the heart of a teen-ager, and he was one of the happiest people I have ever met. 

Before moving to Charlotte County four months ago, I lived in Gainesville, where I was editor of a weekly newspaper near there. The county for the most part was full of young people, mainly because of the University of Florida being there. 

Moving to Charlotte County was a bit of a cultural shock for me, because I moved from Gainesville to this county, whose residents’ average ages are the second oldest in the United States. Never before, not even while growing up in the retirement-haven of West Palm Beach, have I seen so many senior citizens in one area. 

And never before have I seen such an us-vs-them mentality.  People are either classified as young or old. I hear it in the laundromat, in the grocery checkout line, at the beach. And it’s a shame such a mentality exists. 

Being a journalist, somebody who meets all sorts of people on a daily basis, I’ve come to learn that, indeed, people are either old or young Ñ but not in their bodies. Rather, they show it in their hearts and personalities. 

A few months ago, I attended my 10-year high school reunion and was saddened by the number of my fellow classmates who already were “old.” These were the classmates who went around the room, asking people what sort of cars they were driving. Or the ones who got upset when children were brought to the reunion.  Or the ones who came up to me and began making fun of those people who held jobs in carpentry, construction and car repair. 

I felt sad for those people with no happiness in their hearts. Here they were, in their late 20s, in the prime of their life, getting upset over minor things and worrying about their monetary status. 

They were old. 

More people need to be like my friend Charlie. They need to enjoy life to its fullest and know when to have good, old-fashioned fun. When I drive through Charlotte County and see senior citizens jogging, or bike riding, or playing tennis, I say to myself, “Look at those youngsters.” 

And that’s when I think of Charlie. He died a few months ago of a stroke, and it broke my heart. I never thought of him as a senior citizen; I never thought of him as not in my age group; and I certainly never thought of him as being old. 

He was my friend. 

And he will remain forever young.