I grew up with two older sisters with seven and 10-year age gaps. Having such a large age difference, I wasn’t familiar with those sibling relationships where siblings were much closer in age and saw each other as equals rather than as a parent and child. Yet, my relationship with them is something I’m ultimately grateful for.
In my early childhood years, I never really appreciated my familial situation. My sisters, despite being several years removed from the interests of an eight-year-old, made their best efforts to entertain me and my enthusiastic, ADHD-fueled self. I loved and adored them, but I still wished for a sibling my age to play with and felt pangs of embarrassment when my teachers confused my sister with my mother when she picked me up from elementary school.
But one thing I never doubted was the superiority of the music my sisters gave me. My vast knowledge of ’90s and ’00s hits wouldn’t have been possible without the two of them exposing me to their world of music whenever they had the chance. I surrounded myself with their vast music taste, completely immersed and lost in its beautiful words. I’m so grateful for that opportunity, and I would dedicate my life to the music they showed me if I could. Instead, I’ll just dedicate one of those songs to my sisters: “Sunday Morning” (2002) by Maroon 5.
“Sunday Morning” is filled with beautifully soft and comforting melodies and a gorgeous blend of seemingly harsh instruments that come together to make a soothing sound. Often I found myself humming the tune with my sisters in the back of our parents’ car. I didn’t know most of the words, but that never stopped me.
The lyrics to “Sunday Morning,” coupled with its slow, hopeful beat, evoke feelings of nostalgia, of simpler times. It reminds me of listening to my sister play the guitar in our living room, or dancing around the island in our kitchen. The song emphasizes how the best thing we can do in life is to slow things down and appreciate the time spent with loved ones. Lead singer Adam Levine sings, “Things just get so crazy, living life gets hard to do.” Levine encourages us to slow down, singing “driving slow on Sunday morning” and declaring that we “never want to leave.” While some look back on their childhood with anger or resentment — and feel distraught over the idea of aging — this song encourages living in the present and enjoying the little moments in life.
Although I might not have been mature enough as an 8-year-old to fully understand how special my relationship with my sisters was, I knew it certainly felt unique. Being able to learn and grow from them, I attribute much of who I am today to the nurturing environment they provided, where any fight between us was rarer than the moments we took to harmonize to “Sunday Morning.”
A seven and 10-year age difference felt like an unbridgeable divide to a younger me, but the gap only closed as time progressed. Something I once saw as a hindrance now fills me with glee. I can visit my siblings in their adult apartments anytime I want, where we can listen to “Sunday Morning” and transport ourselves back to a different time — one when I still didn't know the words to the song. And I wouldn’t trade those moments for anything.
