every thursday evening my mom and dad would have bobby mcferrin over for cocktails. my sister and i would come running to greet bobby at the door, and he’d scoop us up in his arms and call us “his favorite girls” in a funny high-pitched voice. "make noises for us, uncle bobby!" we’d beg him, and he’d always oblige, blipping and blooping and pounding his chest rhythmically, sending us into squeals of delight.
i can only remember one time when bobby didn't have a good time at our house. that was the time when dad argued with bobby over his version of drive my car, when dad said nobody should cover the beatles--dad was a beatles freak. bobby argued that his version added something different, something he kept calling "a new take," but dad was getting real upset and so was bobby. mom sent my sister and i to our room, which she didn't normally do, and we spent the rest of the night whispering to each other about the fight. we were really worried because we liked uncle bobby so much.
they must have made up, though, since uncle bobby was back the next thursday, happy as ever. he and my dad even hugged each other, and laughed more that night than usual.
this is part two of a continuing series.