It reminds me of the smell of cigarette smoke from the 1990s. This was the last time I would smell cigarettes in a bar or restaurant in America. It's a scent that always reminds me of my childhood.
Nostalgia. memory. The world that was. The world we saw, heard and smelled.
It was our father's smell. Cigarettes, beer, alcohol, gasoline, sawdust, garage. they make me smile.
I sound like an old man mourning another era. But that was just yesterday, right?
30 years ago.
pump 2 gas
My father was a smoker. marlboro lights. I remember standing next to him at the gas station many times. “I’ve got gas at pump 2 and two packs of Marlboro Lights in the box,” he would say. He shifted the box in his hands, leaned a little over the counter, and asked in a voice he never used at home.
He smoked in the car. The window was broken, his elbow was against the door, and a cigarette was hanging just above the glass. There was a slight smell even in the back seat. Just barely.
I remember seeing orange embers on the end of my cigarette on a long journey, late at night and in the dark. A green light on the dashboard and his hand on the steering wheel.
My father didn't smoke in the house. He was standing at the garage door. Place your hand on the door frame and crack it open about 6 inches to prevent smoke from entering. The smell of straws, cigarette smoke, cold air. I remember standing in the kitchen talking to my dad. The smell of all of those things together. It's a memory.
bacon and eggs
My grandparents also smoked. Salem. They bought them in cartons. They smoked inside the house. We didn't live that far away so we visited them often. Sometimes we would stay for the weekend.
I remember my grandfather standing in the kitchen frying eggs in an electric frying pan, an ashtray on the counter, and a lit cigarette turning to ashes. The smell of syrup and bacon fat, smoke and coffee. I'm still in my pajamas.
My grandparents drank Seven & Seven at night. I was watching my father sitting with my grandpa, smoking a cigarette and drinking alcohol. 7-Up's sweet scent is tainted by Seagram's less appealing, overly grown-up scent. The look of a sweaty glass. Cigarette smoke in the air.
These are old memories, places I haven't been to in years. Moments that cannot be seen in photos or videos. However, a certain odor remains. They connect somewhere behind my eyes and I'm there again. Grandpa and dad. The smell of cigarettes.
basics and buds
My wife's father was a smoker. Basic. He often exercised in the garage. For her, it's sawdust mixed with the scent of Basics and a hint of Bud Light. It's her memory, her father. I met my wife in high school. I remember walking through that garage and saying a quick “hello” to her father, who was standing behind his workbench.
It was our father's smell. Cigarettes, beer, alcohol, gasoline, sawdust, garage. they make me smile. our fathers. When we are little, it seems so big. They have grown so much and look so old.
I'm his age now. Am I that important to my son? Those smells felt very nostalgic, yet at the same time very strange and unappealing. I think beer and cigarettes are bad when you're a kid, but it's your dad's smell.
My father smoked all the time while working on home renovation projects. When I close my eyes, I see him leaning his weight on the screwdriver, cigarette still hanging from his mouth. He muttered profanities under his breath and cursed the cheap screws.
My son probably doesn't remember the same scent as I do. His grandfather doesn't smoke while making fried eggs in the kitchen. His dad doesn't ask for a smoking area when we eat out. There are no smoking areas anymore. Some of his memories are the same as mine, but these are different. Those scents are from another era.
If you get it, smoke it.
Yes, we all know that cigarettes aren't the healthiest thing in the world. I'm tired of hearing it. To be honest, I'm starting to think there are a lot of things worse than a bunch of butts.
I have become a smoker.
The memory of the scent that still lingers in my nose reminds me of looking up at my father as a child. How he held the cigarette between his fingers, how he brought it to his lips. I felt that nothing could happen to me because my father always protected me. As if everything would always be fine. I miss the smell of cigarettes.
