“My confidence wavers between being genuine and being insecure.”
– Bob Saget
I met Bob Saget once, and it changed my life. An interesting lede, maybe; but one that would prompt my sophomore English teacher, Sister Angela, to tell me, “Let it breathe!” She did like her wine…
Anyway, it was 1995, and I had recently won a paid summer internship working as a Theatre Marketing Intern for Buena Vista Pictures Distribution (that’s Disney, Mildred.) Chuffed and quite full of myself, I took my girlfriend out to Universal Citywalk to celebrate that I would be leaving her for ten weeks (it turned out to be “leaving her for the rest of my life,” but that’s another story.)
As we walked around before dinner, we wandered into this place called The Nature Company, a store specializing in overpriced butterfly nets, board books about javelinas, trilobite fossils, and music CDs of bands featuring the pan flute. Towards the back of the store, there was some kind of kerfuffle; a small crowd had gathered, and were taking great interest in whoever or whatever was against the rear wall. Intrigued, we were drawn in, and took a few steps towards the commotion.
Now it’s worth noting at this point in the story that I’m a tall guy… about 6’3″ with my shoes off. So when I got closer to the growing crowd of people, you’ll understand that I was able to see over most of their heads. As I was approaching the back of the group, I overheard several people talking about “Full House.” I asked one of them what was going on, and was told that several cast-members from the show were there signing autographs. Through the melee, I managed to see Jodie Sweetin, smiling brightly and wearing too much lipstick. Maybe I saw Dave Coulier? No Olsen twins… I swear, I’m not a fan-boy.
Without warning, a very tall man stood up straight from the crowd, and locked eyes with me. Deadpan.
He stared at me. I stared back at him.
It was Bob Saget.
At 6’4″, Both of us were able to lock eyes for a few seconds above the crowd.
For a moment, I stood there in silence, regarding the human being staring back at me. He looked tired, older in person than the affable dad on TV. I wondered what prompted him to take that momentary respite in the upper atmosphere of the room with me, a few feet from the crowd of gawking, starstruck imbeciles piled up around him. I wondered if, in that moment, he looked at me and questioned why I was there. I felt a great deal of pity for him in those few seconds… stuck in a second-rate specialty store with coworkers, surrounded by strangers, unable to escape through the phalanx of mouthbreathers that had pushed him up against a doorless wall at the back of the store.
I shook my head in disgust at his position, trying to convey a sense of empathy… and I noticed his face changed to one of mild disappointment– but I only noticed it as a turned away. I felt him continue to look at the back of my head for a few more seconds as I walked with purpose towards the door, suddenly claustrophobic and acutely aware that I was breathing other people’s exhales. And with each step, I realized a little more that while I was attempting to connect with that other human being, to communicate that I felt his mild annoyance about the whole thing, what I had actually shared with him was that I disapproved of him, that I was not impressed, that I didn’t care.
Did I just hurt Bob Saget’s feelings?
For the next five minutes or so, my then-girlfriend talking in my ear about God-knows-what, I contemplated the moment; with each passing moment, it bothered me more and more.
Neurotically, I realized I needed to go back. I needed to make things right with Bob Saget.
Briskly and with purpose, I walked back into the Nature Company store. I pushed my way through the crowd, moving ever closer to Bob, who was back down low meeting people. Suddenly, there we were, face to face.
I stuck my hand out, and it was met with his. We both stood straight up again, regarding each other. He smiled that wry, toothless grin he famously barrelled at the camera, and I started to say something about how I wasn’t shaking my head at him I was–
–and he stopped me with a wave of his hand, and said, “I know, guy,” did that *squeeze a little harder to end the handshake* thing, and nodded stoically before moving on to the young lady who was blowing up with glee. All these years later, I remember her annoyingly insane giggle.
What did Bob Saget know, you might ask? I can’t be sure, but I like to think that maybe right after I shook my head in disgust, he wondered if I was disapproving of him, or (rightly) empathizing with his situation, wavering somewhere between genuine and insecure. And when I came back a second time, I think I answered that question, with nothing more than non-verbal communication. Or maybe, as a multimillionaire television star who was friends with John Stamos, he really didn’t give a shit and I just concocted the whole thing. Who knows?
A late mentor of mine spent a lot of time teaching me about what she referred to as “sight encounters.” She said they were an important part of being human, an integral part of connecting with others, empathizing with them, helping them to be the best person they can be. This transfer of data, feelings, emotions, information did not rely on words, she’d say, but rather just SEEING into someone else’s soul, and allowing them to see into yours. They can last for years, or they can take just a split-second.
When E.T. and Elliot meet one another in the cornfield, they spawned an immediate connection. When the Risen Christ encountered Mary Magdalene outside the tomb, and, looking deep into her eyes, she suddenly realized it was Him. When packs of early humans ventured out into the field to hunt wild game, and had to rely on silent communication to have a successful kill.
Yeah, I’m not sure if Bob Saget and I shared this level of connection, this kindred bond. But he popped up in my news feed this morning, and it was the first thing I thought of.
Rest in Peace, Bob Saget. You were a great friend for about seven seconds.
El Gigante Picante del Monte 