For years, I sneered at Bob Saget. Mostly because my younger sister was a dedicated fan of what I considered the most embarrassingly saccharine show on television: “Full House.” I would come from school to find her rabidly watching reruns of the gentle antics of the Tanner family and think to myself how much better, how much more sophisticated was my taste. Then I’d lock myself in my room to marinate my malleable teenage psyche in the nihilism of Nirvana and Nine Inch Nails.
As we got older, I think my brother and I shamed our sister enough over her devotion to the show that she eventually gave it up and tried to pretend she enjoyed the dark, cynical entertainment that we had decreed respectable for children of the nineties. But I discovered how deep her affection for the series ran when Netflix announced in 2016 it was reviving it for a new generation. It was must-watch nostalgia for her, but thanks to her infectious enthusiasm, soon became a new source of joy for her niece, my daughter.
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