Name a scent that, whenever you smell it, it takes you back to your childhood.

The smell of a newspaper. My dad would have the daily paper all over the house as he read it, and many days previous to that as well.
Then, at the end of every week, he’d finally throw that weeks worth of paper out,…
…only to begin again starting on Sunday.

Jet fuel and airplane upholstery. I loved flying so, so much.

Baking bread. My mom baked bread every Sunday morning. There’s nothing that can take me back quicker…unless it’s the smell of a new box of crayons. Mmmmm, crayons.

Lilacs.

I think of spring when I was young. Everybody was still alive, and I felt pretty good.

Lilacs for me too – we had lilac bushes when I was a little kid.

Cherry flavored tobacco. My dad would smoke a pipe out in the garage once or twice a year and that scent will forever mean dad out working on the cars to me.

After his funeral my sister and I smoked one out there because we both have that strong association.

Celery seed tea.

Don’t ask.

Cigarette smoke in clothing. I’d hug dad when he came home and his clothes smelled like it. The smell means dad’s home, and all the wonderfulness it entailed.

Jasmine.
My neighborhood had plenty of jasmine and in the afternoon the smell would be magnificent.

Cut fresh limes

We lived in Florida and had lime trees. Moved away when I was 4. About 35 years later, I was in my kitchen and cut a lime, apparently for the first time since we left Florida, and smelled it, and I was instantly back there.

The smell of a cigarette, just lit, on a cool September morning. I’m back at the lake, helping Dad close the cottage for winter, and he’s just lit up a cigarette.

The brand of soap my grandmother used. If I knew the name, I’d buy it myself!

Also, the brand of disinfectant soap that they use to clean motel rooms. It always makes me think of family vacations and staying in cheap overnight lodging.

What is the stuff they use to clean motel rooms? I’d buy that and use it, too!

Printer’s ink, typewash, white gasoline.

The smell of the cab of an old work truck - suddenly I’m riding somewhere with one of my grandfathers, or sitting on Daddy’s lap, steering that last quarter-mile home. (I know, horrifically unsafe. It was done then, I wouldn’t dream of it now.)

Anise - I can’t really remember the event, but the smell puts me back in my great-grandmother’s kitchen. Maybe she baked cookies, or someone brought her some cookies? I don’t know, but I know that the smell was in her kitchen.

The smell of fresh peaches will forever remind me of putting up the summer harvest with my great-grandmother, or helping Granddaddy prepare our shared birthday treats - homemade peach ice cream and pound cake.

White gas will always be associated with camping trips at the Georgia coast with my father and brother.

Fresh mown hay.

Mom’s cooking whenever she visits. One whiff and I’m a kid again who’s just got home from school and peeks into the pot to get a sneak preview (and taste) of dinner. If I had to pick one particular dish, it would be her croquettes. There are no special ingredients; potatoes, ground beef, onions and seasoning, deep-fried in regular vegetable oil. But no restaurant, supermarket, or gourmet shop has ever matched her recipe, and now I just don’t bother eating croquettes unless my mother made them.

These made me cry, honestly.

For me - garlic and onions frying in good olive oil.

That smell means it’s Sunday, I’m 3 years old, we just got back from church and we’re walking into my (right off the boat Sicilian) grandma’s’ house. She’s making sauce for dinner, all the family is there, like 40 of us…

Kids are running around, causing havoc and breaking stuff…
Men are smoking, drinking beer and whiskey, and playing poker…
Women are cooking, drinking wine, and playing bridge…

Dinner was a 2-3 hour affair, uncles played music on their broken down old instruments and sang out of tune, the room was decorated with Christmas tree lights, we had more food than we could possibly eat, the adults drank way too much wine, we all laughed ourselves silly.

I miss my Grandma :frowning:

New blue jeans
Sweeping compound – the old pink stuff
Cotton candy and popcorn
Chlorine in a swimming pool
Wood smoke and especially burning leaves

Turpentine. My dad is a rock cutter, and some of my earliest memories were of sitting on his knee while he cut stones in his workshop. I’ll always love that smell.

Wheat bread toasting delivers me right back to my grandparents’ in Michigan.

And there’s a certain floor wax or polish used in institutions that knocks me back 30 years to my dad’s dad’s funeral home. I don’t encounter it often and I think it may be antiseptic or something since I smell it in hospitals and …other funeral homes.

Pumpkin guts;
Uncatalyzed auto exhaust;
Hot train brakes on the platform.