Whatever happened to predictability? The milkman, the paperboy, evening TV? Casual drives over the Golden Gate Bridge and neon windbreakers to protect us from that brisk Bay Area sea breeze? Back when times were simpler and the world had three fathers- and by no means am I referring to the holy trinity. I’m talking Danny, Jesse and Joey. All were miserable failures with personality dysfunctions but somehow were able to pull themselves together to raise America’s favorite girls. What this country’s fascination is with “three men and a baby” is beyond me.
Aside from the horrible acting and after school special “the moral of the story is” writing style, Full House was mashed potatoes and gravy to my generation. When the theme song kicked on, you felt good. Because, “everywhere you look there’s a heart and a hand to hold on to.” I always acted as if I was bored while I watched the show though, even at an early age I was aware that it wasn’t socially acceptable for a dude to like chick flicks. And that’s what Full House was, a weekly soap opera for young girls.
I watched habitually though, especially once Rebecca became a regular. I’m not afraid to say it, Lori Loughlin was hot. She still is. In 1989 I didn’t even really know what hot was, but whatever Rebecca was- I liked it. That was the beginning of my lifelong hatred for John Stamos. The guy makes me sick, he’s too fucking cool. His gelled up hair, scruffy metro shave (before the world even knew what metro was), black Italian boots, a rock n’ roll attitude but with a sensitive and understanding side… What a prick. Moreover, he was briefly married to a super model. Still, Romjin aside, the only Rebecca that really mattered to me was the one on Full House.
I remember sizing up Stamos on every episode. I’d sit there and scowl at the TV as I’d watch his performance. The majority of my Full House viewing must have been around the age of 10, so looking back that must have been quite the sight. Back then I didn’t know what it was, and I couldn’t clearly put my feelings into words but I certainly knew that Uncle Jesse was a pretentious asshole. The Elvis impersonations are eventually what did me in. One too many “Teddy Bears” made Rebecca’s love for Jesse unforgivable and I eventually had to move on. I learned early on that chasing after women that were attracted to Jesse’s was fruitless. I’d never be that guy.
I tried to seek out solace in DJ, but she just didn’t have what made me tick. Kimmy was way too easy, so I figured I’d give Steph a shot and maybe try someone my own age. I appreciated her wit and subtle vulnerability but the fact she shared a roof with Stamos was a deal breaker. I finally had to part ways with the San Francisco family and I found myself becoming best friends with Kevin Arnold. His lifestyle was much easier to swallow then three misfit dads living in the gay capitol of the world. He rode his bike, played football with Paul, thought way too deeply about the world around him, and had a crush on Winnie Cooper- the single greatest young female character up to that point in television history.
Kevin and I got a long great, primarily due to our strikingly similar inner monolog. Yes, that’s what it sounds like in my head all day. Winnie was off limits, however. I admired her from afar but the show taught me trust and loyalty, one of the lessons that always seemed laughable coming from Jesse’s mouth. Winnie was everything a 12 year old boy could ask for. She had her own set of wheels, enjoyed milk shakes, and was never afraid to make the first move. In the grand scheme of things, that doesn’t sound too bad to someone in the their mid twenties.
Kevin was my boy though, even through their on-again off-again late adolescence. We shared a comradely, an understanding of sorts. Kevin ultimately always did the right thing, learning life lessons along the way. I took notes and mentally never had an affair with his girl. That’s how it all went down until the final episode. That night I turned on my TV half depressed. I was anxious to see the big finale, but I felt like my childhood was ending just as Kevin’s was. The suspense ate me alive as I slurped from my juice box. The show ended by flashing forward to present day. Winnie got off a plane from studying art in Paris only to be greeted by Kevin, his wife and new son. Those fuckers. I dropped my fruit flavored beverage and let it seep deep into my favorite childhood blanket.
From that moment on it’s been nothing but Guns n’ Roses, cheap strippers, Wild Turkey, and an immense Winnie Cooper void I've never been able to fill. Rebecca’s are a time a dozen, just like the Jesse’s they date. But not Winnie Cooper. Only a Winnie can make you… melt.