Once a wholesome (or so we thought) Full House father, Bob Saget lets his animal instincts go free in his newest book, Dirty Daddy: The Chronicles of a Family Man Turned Filthy Comedian ($27, Harper Collins), which drops this month. Here, he describes his love for springtime in New York—and we’ll warn you, he’s having a hard time seeing the forest for the wood.
Even the first settlers who came to New York City took note of how cold it is in the winter.
Apparently, so I’ve learned, back in 1609, the Englishman Henry Hudson came to “New Amsterdam,” which eventually became New York City, in search of the New World. Instead, what he came upon was an abundance of beavers, which were prevalent back then. As a result of that abundance, there was an abundance of beaver pelts, which opened up trade. The beaver is on NYC’s official seal.
I trust I’ve made it clear that there were a lot of beavers back then.
So, when springtime finally came, New York was even more beautiful and warmer than people thought humanly possible. And the beaver pelts came off. To this day, when springtime comes, everything comes off. Once there’s a hint of warmth in the air, all the young girls and guys in the city take off all their layers. Young women are especially of note because they wear almost nothing. They are beaver pelt-less. Tank tops, boxers hiked down, sandals…
But enough about what I wear to synagogue on Passover.
Guys are shirtless, women are practically naked; and I walk around the city with a half chub. In NYC, when spring is in the air, my nads are dense. But they always have been, when left to their own devices.
(By the way, if you’re a young guy reading this, try to keep your nads out of devices. They may feel good for a few minutes, but they can do permanent damage.)
Several years back, I’d just gotten to the city from Los Angeles to meet Tracy Morgan at a recording studio for an all-night voiceover session. Spring had just begun. As we were leaving the studio, Tracy asked me where I was going. I said, “To my hotel.” He told me to get in his SUV and he’d give me a ride.
Once the doors closed, Tracy let out a loud laugh and said, “Oh, Bobby, we ain’t goin’ home! It’s springtime. We’re goin’ cruisin’!”
And we started to drive all around downtown with the windows down, Tracy shouting out to all the young girls as they walked around in T-shirts with their shorts falling off. “Hey girl, this is my friend Bobby. He just got to town...” Then he looked at me and shook his head in disbelief at how beautiful all the girls were—everywhere.
Being a devoted dad as I am, I got all fatherly at first, looking at all the young barely dressed ladies—but after about 10 minutes, I just inhaled the warm spring air and let my inner dawg come out. Whatcha gonna do? I was crusin’ with Tracy. A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.
Springtime for Tracy... in New York.
And still today, every spring here fills me with happiness, love and non-male-enhanced auto responses. Walking through Central Park, Riverside Park, Union Square Park, Washington Square Park—every park in New York. Up and down the island, across the bridges, way downtown and onto the cobblestone streets where even cab drivers still get lost.
When spring comes, there’s nothing more beautiful than to be walking around New York City.
The city that was founded on beaver pelts.