This past weekend I was reminded of the power of senses. The building in which my church meets is under construction. As I was headed for the door after the service, a familiar odor filled my nostrils, so I stopped. It was the smell of drywall—somewhat putrid, and frankly, it smells a little like body odor.
The odor transported me back in time by 27 years—back when I worked with my Dad, who was a painter, during the summer months. He usually painted new buildings. I can remember once such building—a brand new nursing home. I didn't think we'd ever finish painting it. It was huge! Of course, I was 12 years old at the time, so my perspective may have been a little off.
Dad knew it was going to take a while, and since it was about 60 miles from our hometown, he bought a used trailer and hauled it to the work site and we called it home for the entire summer—coming home only on the weekends.
Anyway, I can distinctly remember walking into a room at the nursing home one day as I was about to paint it and being overwhelmed by the smell of fresh drywall. My Dad often advocated using surgical masks when using the spray gun and I was usually glad to oblige since the smell was so bad.
I haven't experienced that smell in the 27 years since. But I recognized it instantly on Sunday at church and it magically transported me back in time. It was a time that I will never forget.
As a 12 year old boy, I was thrilled to not be forced into taking showers. Where was I going to take one? The trailer didn't have one and the nursing home facility wasn't functional yet. So, I waited until I got home on the weekends, at which point Mom pointed me to the bathtub shortly after I walked through the door.
Dad and I didn't have a television in the trailer, but we had a radio. I can still remember listening to the 1979 baseball All-Star game with him. Lee Mazzilli broke my heart and led the National League to a victory over the American League (my team of choice since my beloved KC Royals are in that league).
In addition to the radio, we had cards. Dad taught my how to play Gin Rummy and we'd played that game for hours ever night. In between hands, we had normal father-son conversations. He wanted to know how I was doing in sports and of course he wanted to know whether I had any girlfriends. We were content and completely at ease.
Funny how such memories can spring back to life by just one little smell.
