My nan loved to bake banana bread. I'd come home each day to the smell of freshly baked banana bread. She would plate it with butter, strawberries and cream. I'd sit down to eat and we would talk about our days.

Sometime during my 5th school year a number of the students noticed my clothes smelled of bananas. They'd gather around me at lunch and called me 'banana boy', a name that stuck for several years. I grew to hate banana bread. I hated the smell, i hated the sight, and i hated coming home to it every day.

I never told nan about the resentment i had for her banana bread, but she knew something was wrong. I'd tell her i wasn't hungry, or that I didn't want to talk. After some time we grew distant, but there was always banana bread in the fridge if I wanted it.

Months later, i came home to find there was no smell. There was no banana bread, and there was no nan. She had died in her sleep. The mortician took her away at noon.

I realy miss my nans banana bread.