There's A Hole in My Biscuit, Dear Billy, Dear Billy

The title of this posting is an adaption of an old song that goes"There's a hole in my bucket, dear Liza,dear Liza..." I grew up among a sister, and two brothers. My eldest brother, Donald, was 15 years older than me and was more like a second father, than a brother. My other brother, Billy, was 8 years older than me and was the bane of my existance at that time. He took his job of irritating his two sisters very seriously. Among the many tricks he used to play on me was the "hole in the biscuit".
I used to tell my children that I didn't know that biscuits came without holes until my brother left for the navy. My mother cooked a big dinner every night right down to the biscuits. If you needed anything, it would be passed around until it got to you. We sat in the same spots every night. The biscuits always set between my brother Bill and my daddy. Whenever I wanted a biscuit, my brother would take one, poke his finger into the bottom very quietly and then proceed to pass it one to me. It took me several years to discover why only my biscuits came with holes in the bottom. I should have known something was going on since my brother was always smiling and snickering when I got my biscuit.