NIGGER TOES

Mom, Dad and I used to sit at the kitchen table
cracking the heavy, dark shells of
the Brazil nut.
Dad called them nigger toes.
They didn’t look like any toes I had ever seen,
but I was only six or seven at the time
and had not yet traveled the world,
nor had I seen that many feet of strangers.

The nuts were hard to crack – even across the length.
It took more than one squeeze of the nut cracker to break the shell into enough pieces so the nut meat could be dug out with the fingers or a nut pick.

I was ten or so when I learned the real name of this nut, but I often think of the name dad used, even this morning when I picked a handful out of a bag of mixed nuts and ate them first.

Dad used the term without blinking or chuckling, or looking for a reaction from me or Mom. He said it as if it was the real name of this delicious nut and used the name as easily as if he was talking about the weather.