Robert is our good friend who just got married this past Sunday! 
Bob is my husband’s friend/mentor from summers working in a vision research lab. He is also the ex-husband of a friend from college or a classics grad student who taught Latin and is now a professor at, I think, UCLA.
Robert was a neighbor, then a friend who died of AIDS some years ago. We used to cat and bunny-sit for him when he travelled.
I don’t have any Bobbys, but I had and Aunt Bobbie. At least I think she was an aunt. She could have been a great aunt or a cousin or no relation at all. My mother’s family was kind of casual about these things.
I know three, and they are all in the same family.
My best friend’s husband is Rob.
His father is Bob.
Their firstborn son is currently Bobby.
My husband has an Uncle Robert.
My good friend’s older brother is Robby.
I used to work with a John Robert who went by Bob.
Funny you should ask. There was a time in my life when I was positively innundated with lovely Robs - I dated one, and he moved away, and I started dating another. At the same time, I worked with one who I wanted to date, but didn’t, as well as two others (who I never had any interest in dating). While at work one day, I was asked out by another one.
Then, I moved into a house on Robert Street. (How could I resist?!)
This all ended when I married a non-Rob. What was I thinking.
Currently, the only Rob I know reminds me eerily of the first Rob mentioned above (he also reminds me eerily of Stephen Harper), and I don’t like him at all.
Hi everybody! 
One of my prized possessions is a tee-shirt my brother in law gave me for my birthday one year: “Uncle Bob” in huge letters on the front. I have an Uncle Bob who was always the “fun” Uncle, and I try to carry on the tradition.
My grandfather was, my father is, and I am.
Regards,
Shodan
My father was James Robert on his birth certificate, J. Robert on his business cards and publications, and Bob everywhere else. I guess he didn’t like the name James. I’d ask him, but he died when I was 13.
The other technician on my last lab job was a Bob.
My son, Bobby, died at the age of three. He would have been 34 this year.
We always wonder where lifes path would have led him. 
Sorry, but it IS me. Can’t help it.
Wow. I have a dearth of Bobs.
In highschool, someone in our little group decided that any random John Doe, especially in a humorous context, was Bob. So there was a lot of Bob going around, even though we didn’t hang out with anyone named Bob.
I have a Cousin Bob, who was, I believe, named for a close friend of my Aunt & Uncle’s, and it seems there may have been one or more additional Bobs or Roberts in that story, but…we’re just not a close family. I actually had to think for a while to remember this one.
But MY Bob…Robert Smith. Don’t know him personally, but that’s the Bob I think of. If I tell my husband “I saw Bob today” he’ll wonder if I saw a Cure video or interview or what.
I guess I should go out and meet some Bobs.
Rob is my co-worker. He’s a really nice guy but he sucks at his job. I enjoy our chats, dread consulting him about anything work-related.
My grandma’s Bobby was her brother Raymond. Apparently that’s how he said his name when he was little and it stuck for his entire life. I don’t know how you get Bobby out of Raymond, but family legend has it that he was a little slow so maybe the two things are related?
My FIL is Bob. He’s a nice guy, deaf as a post, and dying in the hospital in Louisville from fluid that keeps building on his heart despite their best efforts.
My BIL is Bobby to the family, Robert to everyone else. He’s the complete opposite of my husband: short instead of tall, outgoing instead of shy, a family man instead of a person who’d rather be shot than have children. But they get along beautifully. Life is strange.
My grandfather was Robert. He was gruff, but extremely kind and generous. He was a steelworker his entire life, but really missed his true calling, which was to be a farmer. He had a house and a summer home, and for a long time kept gardens and fruit trees at both places. I’ll never taste canteloupe again as good as what he could grow.
We lost him in 1991, right after the new year. Lung cancer.
My dad is Robert, too, but since his dad was Robert, he always went by his middle name. He just retired as a steelworker, and is now working on his short game, also tending a garden, and spoiling his grandchildren. He does the last two things considerably better than the first.
My name is Rob. You know enough about me.
My son is Robbie. He will be three in November. He’s the best climber in the world, and can count and knows his alphabet. He loves his mommy and daddy and twin sister and baby brother very very much, even if he’s not always very good at sharing. Hugs and kisses are always given freely, though.
My uncle, Joseph Robert. Yep… Joe Bob. What’s worse, his nickname was Puddin’.
He was a good guy, though.
My father, myself, and my son.
If we have a son, my husband and I are naming him Robert John (after my dad and his dad, respectively)
My dad went by “Bob” or, more often just “Murph”. He died last December 21. So we wanted to honor him by naming our son after him. And since I dreamed that my baby will be a boy, we might be having a Robert.
We’ll be calling him Robbie, though. It would be too weird for me to call him Bob.
I’ve often wanted to start a thread about what makes some Roberts Bobs and other Roberts Robs.
There is a difference, after all. I’ve been Rob all of my life. When someone calls me Bob, it sounds off. Not my name at all.
I have an uncle, though, who is a Bob. I wouldn’t dream of calling him Rob. It just isn’t his name.
Think of TV. Laura wouldn’t have been married to Bob Petrie, would she? And would they have put the Rob Newhart Show on the air at all?
I know this all goes back to Cockney rhyming nicknames, but it has since grown past that. There is a distinction here, and it is a sharp one.
Bob’s my dad, and he’s the best Bob there is. He’s generous to a fault, and has a wicked sense of humor, tho’ he’s on the quiet side sometimes (probably because the rest of us are so loud). He’s a gentle man, with a quiet way about him, but he definitely has a force of personality. He’s hugely smart, and very self confident. My mom sometimes compares me to him, which makes me very proud and which I really try to live up to. He’s always there to help. Only Mom calls him Bobby, and only when she’s feeling affectionate - I haven’t heard her call him that in years, tho’ I suppose she still does. A good man, an excellent Bob.
SpouseO’s got a friend, Rob, who’s wild, crazy, but much fun. He’s the type of guy who does strange man things, like going to a golf course with the boys and teeing off naked. There’s probably more pictures of Rob’s genitalia floating around than he’d like to think about. But he’s fun, and I’d wager he’d be there for you in a pinch.
One of my oldest friends has a brother Rob, who I haven’t seen in years - he went to live with their dad when their parents divorced, while my friend stayed with his mom. Rob’s famous for the “O…shin” quote he uttered long ago while playing b-ball with my brother. See, his mom was around and he didn’t want to swear, but he banged his shin hard and so made an impromptu substitution. " ‘Ocean,’ Rob?" my brother inquired, chortling. “Yes, ocean - you know, big blue thing, lots of fish…” We all use his quote frequently.
Robert (Rob) C. was my grandpa.
Robert (Bob) J. is my dad.
I’m David Robert.
I’ve thought that a first son should get Robert as a middle name just to keep the ball rolling.