I remember back in ’63 when I was ten years old. We crowded round our television, westerns were the mold.
As soon as chores were finished we’d watch TV every night. There were no color televisions, only black and white.
Each Saturday was Gunsmoke. ‘Twas our weekly family show. And Sundays were Bonanza. Grandma’s crush was Little Joe.
We chomped down bowls of popcorn mother popped in cooking oil. She said she’d rather watch us than those westerns of turmoil.
Not once did we apologize; no cussing on TV. It didn’t matter what we watched. They all were rated G.
There’s something ‘bout the closeness every family shared back then. I wonder if those times are gone. Like to have them back again.
Those days were fifty years ago. We’ve come a long, long way. But television ain’t the same. It’s wrought and filled with fray.
Today I have at least a half a dozen sets or more. Their color and the stereo impresses me for sure.
We never need to crowd around to get a perfect view. You could prob’ly see the picture from the street while driving through.
And even though we have at least a hundred-channel plan. I still prefer old westerns. I’ll forever be a fan.
The other day I asked my grandson, “Ever watch John Wayne?” He said, “I’d rather take a punch to help dull up my brain.”
Of course, I took exception so I sat him down by me. Then found my favorite western for the two of us to see.
And just to be for sure I didn’t cause him more turmoil. Said, “How about some popcorn that we pop in cooking oil?”