My childhood tasted like…
still steaming New York City style bagels: pumpernickel, rye, and everything,
Charlie’s chips and pretzels from a tin,
homemade Jewish Apple Cake,
fried spam or pork roll sandwiches with yellow mustard,
wonton soup and egg rolls,
Philadephia soft pretzels, either just baked or cold from being sold on Bustleton Avenue,
cherry cheesecake and french fries for lunch,
and my grandmother’s wide noodle homemade chicken soup.
My childhood sounded like…
children playing in the pool,
air raid sirens every weekday at noon,
the theme song of Little House on the Prarie,
my dad’s laugh.
My childhood smelled like…
sweaty bodies of kids playing.
(Thank you to Stopping by an English Class on a Random Day for the idea for this post).