Mr. Tangerine Man

My cousin, Jamie, is fifteen years younger than me, and grew up calling me her big sister. She spent lots of time at our house, sleeping over frequently on weekends, and even called our house her vacation home.  Once, when she was about eight and we were just hanging out and goofing off, she started nodding her head and snapping her fingers as she sang a song.  She had always  looked up to me, and in that moment it seemed she was trying to be cool for my benefit.  

"Hey, mister tangerine man, play a song for meeee. . . ."

When I managed to stop laughing and explain that he was saying ‘tambourine,’ she decided that it made much more sense that way.

It became one of those famous family moments that gets retold at every gathering, almost like some sort of legend, complete with me standing up and mimicking her actions at the time, all in good fun, of course. Recently, when she brought her boyfriend home from college, she was worried that I was going to tell him the story and embarrass her (as I tend to do).  So I suggested to her mom to put a bowl of tangerines on the table, just to keep her on her toes.

I can't hear that song, or anything by Bob Dylan or The Byrds, without thinking of all the time we spent together as she was growing up, that moment when she broke into song, and how often I’ve gotten to tease her about it since.