scotch bonnet

they call him pipin, short for pipin hot, but i just call him dad. even his own mother calls him pipin although when she's really mad, she uses the name she gave him, and the shrill cry of "Willy" comes crashing down on his head. i asked him once where he got his nickname and he shrugged his shoulders in the impatient way that he usually does, and told me not to ask such stupid questions. i asked my mom where he got that nickname and she laughed and said it was because he had a piping hot temper, one that burned long and hard (but i guess that's the scorpio in him.) i asked my grandma where he got his nickname and she told me that my father had a love affair with peppers. he would devour even the spiciest ones whole and not bat an eyelash, shed a tear. i wonder if those peppers worked their way into his blood, into his skin, into his words. my dad's cheeks are always burning, his blood always boiling, his words always gave me heartburn.

ive been cooking with a scotch bonnet pepper that we found at the farm. it was one small fat yellow pepper amongst lots of red skinny ones. the outside of the pepper is smooth and curvy, overzealous and a bit seductive. but when you cut into the pepper, you have to keep a distance. just a slice is enough to spice up a whole meal, and definitely enough to burn your skin if you touch it. i grew up being afraid of this pepper in the same way that i was afraid of my father's temper. but i've missed it lately, and so i put scotch bonnet in everything. i welcome the throbbing burning in my throat without batting an eyelash, shedding a tear.