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Samantha Kratman

Professor Babcock

English 138T - 002

30 January 2023

I believe in “American Pie”. I don’t remember the first time I heard the song in its

entirety - it seems I emerged from the womb with all nine minutes engraved into my brain. The

song references pop culture, has a rousing chorus, and melodically saunters through different

tempos. To me, it is perfect.

As a child sitting in the backseat of the car, I begged my mom to play the song on an old

CD. I’d scream along, out of tune but exuberantly happy. I grew older - the backseat and CDs

turned into sitting shotgun and aux cords - but “American Pie” stayed with me through

adolescence. For my twelfth birthday, I got a record player - the first album I played was Don

McLean’s. In eighth grade, my English class wrote letters to our senior-year-selves; after the

obligatory sentimental nonsense, I wrote “I hope you still like ‘American Pie’”.

More time passed - riding shotgun and aux cords turned into driving and CarPlay - and

“American Pie” started to dwindle. My friends rolled their eyes when it played, and my first

boyfriend complained about my “old people music”. I made new friends, tried different sports,

moved homes, went by Sam instead of Sammy, and “American Pie” was listened to in quiet

seclusion instead of at full volume.

Throughout all these developments, I had one other constant - or two. Starting in the

womb, distinctiveness was a foreign concept - there was simply no way to keep triplets separate.

I have been SammyAbbeyAndLucy since birth: undeniably a plural.

We fought often, as children are wrought to do, and I was desperate to escape our shared

identity through solitude. The unintended consequence of my self-imposed isolation was the
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demise of our sisterhood. We became adversaries, bound to be estranged aunts that would only

meet up at funerals. For a while, I thought this was great; however, I realized that my sisters

were becoming withdrawn. Eventually, I was fed up; I asked Abbey what the issue was during a

long drive. They tried to change the subject before forcing it out - “I’m gay - please don’t be

mad”. My world tilted on its axis. My obsession with individualism had turned me into a stranger

to the people I loved the most and I didn’t know how to fix it.

Suddenly, it hit me - there are some things in life that you never forget how to do. The

lyrics to “American Pie” is one. Another, I realized in a sudden moment of clarity in our family’s

silver Maxima, was being a sister. I resolved myself - never again would I shy away from the

steadiest aspects of my life.

Nowadays, I blast “American Pie” any chance I get. When asked how far away the beach

is, my best friends say “Five ‘American Pies’” instead of forty-five minutes. On those frequent

summer-time drives, they laugh as the opening notes play. The windows are down, the air is

humid, and always in the backseat - Abbey and Lucy, singing “Bye-Bye, Miss American Pie”.