In our family, the middle biscuit is a big deal. Actually, it’s the supreme culinary prize.
Now, for those who are not from the South or have never consumed real made-from-scratch biscuits, the concept of the middle biscuit is probably foreign. But for anyone who has ever sat down to a black cast-iron skillet full of piping hot biscuits, it is a fact that the middle biscuit has the best buttery flavor, as well as the most tender and perfect texture.
Trust me! It’s the middle biscuit for the win!
Every Southern kid learns that fact early on, and it’s every man (and child) for himself when it comes to grabbing the good stuff from the middle of the pile. The battle is on the instant the biscuits hit the table – or sometimes as soon as they come out of the oven.
But in our family, the biscuit war had been fought and decided years ago. Baby Boy Lucius always got the middle biscuit. His brother and his parents learned that it was just not worth it to take the coveted middle biscuit from him. The rest of the day (his and ours) would be a disaster if Chris Lucius did not get his breakfast prize.
In truth, he really was the only one of our small family who loved breakfast above every other meal. The rest of us could grab something and go, but Chris always needed something more nutritious and filling to start his day. So, we gave in, and let the boy have his biscuit – his middle biscuit to be more exact.
Now, I never really told Chris this, but he inherited that middle-biscuit love. When I was growing up, my mom worked at school, so we rarely had a big breakfast, except on Saturdays. Instead, we usually ate conveniently packaged breakfast foods.
But my best friend Jeanette’s mom always made a pan of biscuits, every single morning without fail. It was such a regular fare in their home that my friend and her siblings were not too impressed. They often skipped breakfast or grabbed something at school.
Her dad, on the other hand, loved his biscuits. He worked a strenuous, outdoor job, and he appreciated that good warm breakfast to start his day. So, by the time I got over to their home each morning to walk with my friend to school, there were always a few biscuits left over for me.
I helped myself, and it became a daily habit.
Then somehow, one day, I managed to get to the middle biscuit before Mr. Bobby. He laughed when he saw me eating my treasure with gusto. So did Jeanette’s mom, Ms. Greta. And miraculously, after that, the middle biscuit was always left for me.
Even now, I cry when I think of how such a small sacrifice made such a deep impact on my heart!
I was loved, truly loved. So much so that my friend’s precious parents left me the middle biscuit every morning. And they did so until the day I married and left our sweet hometown for good.
Somehow, that gesture taught me about the value and worth of a person. It showed me just how much I mattered. And most of all, it reminded me that I too could make someone feel that same love – just by sharing the best of what I had at hand.
Isn’t that crazy? How can a simple piece of bread make such a difference in a person’s life?
But it did!
So, when Chris, as a toddler, first reached for that middle biscuit, I gladly handed it over, just like Mr. Bobby did for me. And every time I did so, it spoke to my child in some small, silly way, telling him just how very loved he really was.
It was an honor Chris never failed to acknowledge – or appreciate. Even when he laughingly chided his brother Jacob about it, he still smiled with the pure joy of simply being loved by us all. Without doubt or hesitation, he knew the middle biscuit was always his for the taking – no questions asked.
Yes, even now, after he has been home in heaven for over a year, the middle biscuit is still left for Chris Lucius.
In fact, we all pause when the pan of biscuits comes out of the oven, and even though we never say a word, we just can’t seem to make a grab for it. I guess it’s almost as if we just cannot stop loving Chris with that middle biscuit.
The reality of this crazy fact really hit me last Sunday when I stopped at a local convenience store for breakfast on my way to church. To be honest, it had been a tough morning. Sundays just seem to be harder to face without Chris. Church was such a huge part of our family life.
But other than a hidden tinge of added sorrow, it was no big deal. It was just a day like a thousand others in my life – until I got my turn at the counter.
I asked the lady for an egg and cheese biscuit. She quietly put on some clean gloves, picked up a pair of tongs, and reached for the biscuit closest to her.
Then, she hesitated for several seconds and purposefully moved her hands to wrench out the middle biscuit for me.
Instantly, my momma’s heart jumped within me. It was all I could do not to cry out as I thought of Chris and how much I loved him. And I remembered all the times he ate that middle biscuit, knowing just how loved he really was – by me, by his dad, and by his big brother.
I fought back my tears all the way to the cash register.
But you know me, I couldn’t let the moment pass without speaking. So, I thanked this lady (who I had never met) for taking the time to get me the middle biscuit. She smiled and said she thought she should go ahead and give me the very one she would want – the middle one.
I lost it, right then and there, in the middle of that store. I told her the story of my little boy who lived his entire life eating the middle biscuit.
She cried, I cried, and then, we both smiled and held hands before I took my precious middle biscuit out to my car – where I prayed and thanked God.
What more could a Southern mama with a broken heart want than to serve the One Who loves me so much that He took the time to remind me of His unfailing love for me – by using another momma to serve me that good ol’ middle biscuit on a day when I needed it most.
