I do not have TV service hooked up in my apartment. I have neither cable, dish nor streaming. Nor do I have rabbit ears wrapped in tin foil — but I have fond memories of such high-tech solutions.

(Hey, fellow old-timers, remember smacking the side of the set to fix the vertical hold? Fun times, eh? The kids have no idea what we’re talking about.)

What I do have is a hand-me-down screen, and secondhand DVD player and a couple boxes full of childhood memories.

The other night, I settled in to relive Basil Rathbone and Nigel Bruce in the 1943 black-and-white movie “Sherlock Holmes Faces Death.” Before that, I delved into a collection of Bugs Bunny films, including that 1957 masterpiece “What’s Opera, Doc?”

When I say relive my childhood, I don’t mean that I was alive in 1943 or in 1957 — close, but not quite yet. I mean that these were the fun reruns and replays I enjoyed in my youth.

That’s right, kids, I’m from the last century.

Besides cartoons, my basket of fun includes 1966 favorites such as “Get Smart,” “Batman” and “Wild, Wild West.” I was a kid when these came out right after the world became colorized.

Before 1966, TV shows, photographs and everything was in black and white. Our boxes of Crayolas were pretty small. And we never worried about color-coordinating our clothes. Black went with white. Period.

Zoos mostly kept zebras, pandas and penguins. There also was the occasional white tiger and a Holstein cow. (They were not kept in the same exhibit. Too much risk of color leaking out of the cow).

Values also largely were black and white — good was good and bad was bad.

Convictions were easier to form, morals were easy to follow, and I understood a whole lot more than I do now.

These days, I’m told that everything I thought was good is bad, and everything bad is good.

Plus, there’s a humongously wide gap of gray area between good (bad) and bad (good).

Yes, I am grumpy old man looking back on my memories with rose-colored glasses. I mean colorless glasses. I saw clearly then.

These days, my glasses are smudged and weak. Everything’s a fuzzy blur of colors.

No, the black-and-white world wasn’t perfect. We preach a lot more tolerance these days, although that’s a gray concept, too. We’ve become stubbornly intolerant of anyone who won’t tolerate our personal opinions of who or what to tolerate. Or something like that. It gets confusing to somebody from the last century.

People are people, personalities are wacky and opinions can be off the charts. But as a guy named Rodney once pleaded, “Can we all get along?”

It’s enough to drive a guy to dip into his box of 60-year-old and older movies and TV shows — and I go there often. It’s like pulling a comfortable quilt — even a colorful one — snug around oneself while visiting old friends.

Maybe that’s why I haven’t hooked up cable or learned how to stream.

It’s fun to pull out a campy Batman that delivers ridiculous lines with such seriousness that it tickles the funny bone without resorting to snark, innuendo or profanity.

Would you believe that Maxwell Smart, Secret Agent 86 of CONTROL, was a screw-up who saved the world hundreds of times with laughter.

And, of course, there’s my first superhero whom I met back in 1964 or so — Underdog. There was no need to fear when this humble and loveable shoeshine boy stepped into a phone booth and emerged as that poetic hound of justice.

(Probably the reason you can’t find phone booths anymore is that Underdog exploded them all, necessitating the invention of cellphones. See, youngsters, he should be your hero, too.)

Row, row, row your black-and-white boat gently down the streaming service; Merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream of simpler times. Now get off my lawn. It’s time for my nap.

Sort through the VHS tapes with Cole at burton.w.cole@gmail.com or on the Burton W. Cole page on Facebook.