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Nikki Bon’s absentee, rock and roll, space cadet dad has just come back into her life. So now she has to try and teach him how to be a father. This is a podcast documenting comedian Nikki Bon and Bobby, the retired drummer, as they attempt to mend their relationship. For the first time ever Nikki confronts Bobby and the two hash out their issues, make up for lost times and do all the things Bobby missed out on. In hopes that he will learn how to be a dad. This podcast is intended to be a guide for parents in similar situations to better understand their child, have a stronger long distant relationship and not make the same mistakes he did. Will Nikki be able to turn Bobby from drummer to dad? Here’s a clue. She still has abandonment issues.
Episodes
Wednesday Dec 23, 2020
Wednesday Dec 23, 2020
My dad reads 'The Night Before Christmas' in the most Bobby way possible, with a groove, percussion and vocal breaks.
Since we won't see each other on Christmas, not like we ever did, I figure why not start a father-daughter tradition and read a Christmas story every year. My dad was surprisingly enthusiastic about the idea, especially when he discovered he could turn the classic holiday tale into a hot track.
A lot of parents sit down with their kids to read this story every Christmas eve and since we didn't spend Christmas together, my dad is reading this for the first time. Bobby comes to realize he had missed out on a lot more than just the memory. 'The Night Before Christmas' opens his eyes to "cool" terms like "the moon on the breast", gets his creative juices flowing, and discovers a potential hook for a chorus when he reads "on dasher, on prancer, on Donder, and Blitzen". By the end of it my dad has gone from Bobby, to little drummer boy.
Grab a cup of coco, a blanket and sit back and relax as little drummer Bobby performs 'The Night Before Christmas'. Join in if you like.
'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
in hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of sugar plums danced in their heads. And Mama in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap.
When out on the roof there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash,
tore open the shutter, and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow gave the lustre of midday to objects below, when, what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer.
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles, his coursers they came,
and he whistled and shouted and called them by name:
"Now Dasher! Now Dancer! Now, Prancer and Vixen! On, Comet! On, Cupid!
On, Donner and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch!
To the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"
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