Wow. All I had to write about regarding the smells of childhood were the aromas of Dad’s leather wallet and binocular case, and Mum’s Nivea cream. They seem quite trite compared with what Lyndell Williams had to endure. My heart goes out to her and to all the other victims of childhood sexual abuse. My parents didn’t have much money, but I was one of the lucky ones. However, I never realised it at the time.
If your childhood had a smell, what would it be?
One of the things most people remember about their childhoods is the scrumptious mixture of scents of a well-cooked meal at home. They revel in memories of swirls of seasonings in the warm air wrapping them in comfort.
Well, that would not be the smell of my childhood—not totally. For me, caustic fumes of abuse defiled such wonderful aromas, threatening to completely choke out my humanity.
*Alert – Filters Down*
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