I was 10 years old when Dad finally broke down and bought the family its first TV set.
We wheeled it into the living room, hooked up the rabbit ears, plugged it in and proceeded to gaze, slack jawed and wide eyed, at anything and everything that appeared on its 12-inch screen.
That included wrestling and roller derby, Ina Ray Hutton and Her All-Girl Orchestra, live broadcasts of A-bomb tests in Nevada, even test patterns.