Sure, there was good television programming available around the holidays last year, but none quite so delightful as “The Perry Como Show,” aka “The Chesterfield Supper Hour,” aka “The Kraft Music Hall,” during those halcyon days of the ’50s.

I can sweetly remember the degree of anticipation with which we all approached these televised events — especially at Christmas and Thanksgiving. Lacking additional television sets or addictive computers, the entire family would gather in our Sanford den to enjoy the avant-garde, high-tech medium of our 17-inch Philco television set.

Corn had been popped for the occasion, and there was mercifully no regard for fat content, calories or points as melted butter richly streamed over the deliciously warm popcorn. Oh, and Kool-Aid all around.

Context, you ask? It was the best of times, it was the best of times. A romantic mom who claimed the longest part of her day was the five minutes before my dad came home from work. A loving but matter-of-fact dad who was slowly transformed into a fan as the televised hour evolved.

Back to Perry, it wasn’t only “good” television, it was inspiring television. “Mr. C.,” as he was called at that venue, would open the show with his “Dream Along With Me” theme song.

It was true zeitgeist — the music of the time. It validated all of the hormone-popping sentiments of this teenager. Mitch Ayers served as musical director, and announcer Frank Gallop’s sonorous bass voice, an invisible “voice from the clouds,” was apt foil for Como’s jokes.

Guests might well include the likes of Kirk Douglas, whose beard former barber Perry Como shaved; Esther Williams or even Monaco’s Prince Rainier and his bride, Grace Kelly.

Just about a half-hour into the show, you could find Perry dressed in a cardigan sweater now sitting on a stool, music stand before him, responding to song requests, having intoned, “Sing To Me, Mr. C.” And you could understand every word he sang — from “A Bushel and a Peck” to “Zing Zing-Zoom Zoom.”

Before we knew it, the hour had almost passed, and it was time for Perry’s culminating musical apotheosis, usually “Ave Maria” at Christmas (with Perry standing, say, in a ray of light before a stained glass window) or “Bless This House” at Thanksgiving as he delivered this rousing prayer-song at the head of a colorful Thanksgiving table replete with harvest.

Alas, shortly after the program ended, we kiddos headed for a good night’s sleep — complete with our Kool-Aid grape mustache. Yes, “Good night, Lorraine.” “Good night, Mom.”

That’s really how it usually was. And it was pretty much the norm insofar as most of our neighbors and friends were concerned. Just ask the Pascuccis, McCombs, Roys, Smiths and others in that middle-class neighborhood.

Especially if U R a teen, I’ll bet you’ve signed off reading this, say, four paragraphs ago. But OMG, I wish you that sense of belonging that we enjoyed, now acknowledging that all of these memories are envisioned through my fuddy-duddy (some would say “rose-colored”) glasses. Believe me though, it was wicked cool! In fact, some of these neighbors truly continue to be BFFs.

It’s with humility and thanksgiving that I recollect these happy memories, incredibly saddened because of much of today’s dark pop (and sometimes absent Mom and Pop) culture. It was not a perfect life (Sister Mary James: “It’ll build your character”), but every member of the family knew their role, their lane and where the boundaries were. Actually, Perry’s music affirmed all that.

“The Perry Como Show” was a kaleidoscope of the serious, comical, fun, inspiring, a family-binding WD-40 burst of entertainment. In fact, a sacrament.

It’s no wonder we call these “Happy Days.”

Lorraine Dutile Masure is a resident of Sanford.