We just have to get Bob up here!
Bob is my family hero. Bob is an artist my parents met while they were in a cult in New York City in the... seventies? Bob doesn't like t be called "Bob" anymore - but screw him, you can't change who you are.
When the Robinsons emigrated to upstate New York they left Bob behind in the city. They bought a "fixer-upper" which they now understand to mean "you have to fix the entire upper portion of the house - everything above the foundation. Oh yeah, and the foundation." Not being particularly fix-it minded people, they got books out of the library, chatted up neighbors and managed to finagle ways to keep the house one step ahead of "just livable." Whenever a job came along that was too delicate for their talents, but too inspired to give up on, my mom would utter her favorite phrase:
We just have to get Bob up here!
Everything I know about Bob's life was relayed to me by my parents. They met him in a cult in New York City that was coincidentally featured on an episode of Seinfeld. Bob did large oil paintings of the book John, chapter 3. All my religious schooling and I don't remember what the specifics of that chapter are - but essentially it's the go-to salvation message for evangelists everywhere. Bob paints like Rembrandt- a somewhat sardonic Rembrandt. But according to legend he has led a colorful life.
Apparently Bob's family once had him kidnapped from the cult and taken to a hotel in Boston (or somewhere else far away) to be "re-programmed". He somehow escaped from his kidnappers, hitch-hiked back to New York, only to be berated publicly by the church leader, Chuck. **Aside: how do you lead a church with a name like Chuck?**
Bob was also shot once by a gang punk who didn't like the church freaks having a big gathering in the local roller rink. He was taken to the hospital, but they left him in the hall because he didn't have insurance. He still has a bullet in his shoulder.
My own stories of Bob are much more mundane, but still revered by the family. Bob hates children, and therefore hated myself and my brothers for a long time. He might still dislike us. He also hated our fat mutt, Woody. Once I was standing in the bathroom doorway, just staring at nothing. Our dog Woody was sitting on the front porch, peering in at me through the window, panting. Bob walked through the room and by the window. He did a sort of blase double-take as he noticed Woody, backed up two steps, pulled the shade completely down, and continued through the house. He called her the 'mule.
Catch phrases stick to Bob much like the name "Bob" itself. He was once heard saying "let's put the kids in the barn and the goat in the car and get out of here." As tired as the repetition of that phrase is, I'm sure he prefers it to the inevitable "what about Bob?"
Now that my parents are buying a house - a FINISHED house and a church that are asking for nothing but unbridled creativity in regards to their use - the phrase has come back into fashion.
We just HAVE to get Bob up here!It's time to repay Bob for the occasional badgering, but most of all for the wild ideas that came out of our neck of the woods on a regular basis. But that's part of our charm as a team, Robinson + Bob. Bob will forever represent youth. The youth that is full of talent, potential and complete disdain for anything my mother suggests. In her defense, once you know you have a genius in your midst it becomes impossible to understand why he's not acting the way you would if you were a genius. I mean, maybe you're talented, but this is a prodigy. A person who can sit down and finish things. A person who can produce accurate physical reproductions of his own elusive ideas. *Sigh* But Bob likes to leave us to our own messes. Perhaps he is really a genius, but simply enjoys seeing the beauty inside the chaos that is our never-ending quest for one step ahead of "just livable."
