Winter Olympics - Family, Freedom, and a Flickering Black and White TV
- bertisdave
- 21 hours ago
- 3 min read
❄️ When the Winter Olympics Meant Family, Freedom, and a Flickering Black-and-White TV
There was a time when the Winter Olympics didn’t live on twenty different streaming apps, didn’t come with push notifications, and didn’t follow you around in your pocket.
They lived in one place.......The living room.
And for a couple weeks every four years, that living room felt like the center of the world.
📺 The Television That Weighed More Than the Sofa
Back then, you didn’t “turn on the Olympics.” You committed to them.
The TV was a piece of furniture — wood cabinet, rabbit ears on top, dials that clunked when you changed channels. It took two kids and a small prayer to get decent reception.
One person held the antenna. One person smacked the side.
Dad yelled, “Don’t move — it’s clear right there!”
And that was high-definition.
But when the Winter Games came on, nobody complained. Dinner trays came out. Popcorn popped. Hot cocoa steamed on the coffee table.
The whole family watched together because there was no other choice.
And honestly? That was the best part.
⛸️ Two Types of Fans Under One Roof
Every house had the same divide.
On one side of the room: Mom and the sisters. Figure skating. Ice dancing. Grace. Music. Sparkly costumes.
You’d hear things like: “Look how beautiful that is.” “She’s so elegant.” “Oh I love that dress!”
On the other side? Dad, brothers, and any neighborhood kid who wandered in.
Hockey. Skiing. Bobsled. Ski jumping. Anything where somebody might crash at 70 miles an hour.
If it looked dangerous, we were glued to the screen.
If somebody hit the boards in hockey? We cheered like we’d just won the lottery.
Different tastes..... Same couch ..... Same memories.
🇺🇸 USA vs USSR — More Than Just Games
For kids growing up in the 1960s and 1970s, the Olympics weren’t just sports.
They felt like something bigger.
It was the Cold War, even if we didn’t totally understand what that meant yet.
All we knew was: When the Americans competed against the Soviets…It mattered. A lot.
Those red uniforms felt like movie villains. Every goal against them felt like justice. Every medal they won felt like it stung just a little.
Parents stood up and yelled at the TV like the athletes could hear them.
“Come on! Beat ’em!”
It wasn’t logical. It wasn’t rational. It was pure heart.And that made it unforgettable.
🏔️ The Heroes We Never Forgot
Even decades later, certain names still feel larger than life.
Peggy Fleming — pure grace. Her gold medal skate felt calm and hopeful, like everything might be okay again.
Dorothy Hamill — spins for days and the most famous haircut in America. Every kid tried copying it.
Billy Kidd — smiling, fearless, the first American man to medal in alpine skiing. Looked like he was having fun the whole way down.
Jean-Claude Killy — the French blur who owned the mountain in 1968, winning everything in sight.
These weren’t just athletes. They were characters in the family story.
🏒 And Then… The Soviet Machine
Let’s be honest. The Soviets were incredible.
Hockey that looked like choreography. Passing like a chess match. Training year-round like professionals.
While everyone else played with heart…They played like a system.
You hated them. But you respected them. Because they were just that good.
Sometimes the villains are also the best team on the ice.
❄️ After the Broadcast Ended
The funny part?
The Games didn’t stop when the TV went off. Kids went outside and recreated everything.
Trash can lids became bobsleds. Boots became skates. Hills became Olympic courses.
Every backyard turned into Innsbruck or Sapporo.
Nobody had the right equipment. Nobody cared.
We were Olympians until Mom yelled us in for dinner.
❤️ What We Really Remember
Here’s the thing. Most of us don’t actually remember who won every medal.
We remember:
The couch. The snacks. Dad yelling. Mom knitting. Snow falling outside. The whole house warm and together.
The Winter Olympics gave families an excuse to slow down and sit in the same room.
No phones. No scrolling. No distractions. Just shared moments.
For two weeks, the world felt smaller. And somehow, closer.
In the end, that’s what the Winter Olympics really were.
Not just records or podiums.
But memories.
Frozen in time.
Kind of like the ice itself.
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