Nothing Says Happy Birthday Jesus

Like a Semi Automatic Weapon

Growing up it became a tradition for my family to take a Christmas Eve pilgrimage to my Maw Maw’s house in Mooresville, NC. Mooresville is known for two things, NASCAR and WHATA-BURGER; the former does not have much to do with this story. WHATA-BURGER, however, became a Hybarger holiday mainstay.

Maw Maw Hybarger was the matriarch of the Hybarger clan. She raised three wild boys who kicked out car windows, chased each other with knives, fell of mountaintops and various other things; most women would have just given up yet she still looked fabulous. Every Christmas the three boys and their families would return to the Mooresville homestead for Christmas fun.

Firstly, my grandmother had a love of ugly trees, we all knew it; she knew it but dared anyone to challenge. The lady did not go in for pines, balsams, or Fraser firs; she loved Cedar Christmas trees. Is there any tree lot in North America that sells Cedar Christmas trees? I think even in her later years she went out and cut one down herself. Her trees were always in need of serious structural support. They always tilted to the side; precariously set to topple burying bystanders in a forest of sap and tinsel. One year she had her tree bungeed to the wall. Honest to god, bungeed!
She set down the gauntlet (or stocking) for you to mock as well. “What do you think of my Christmas tree?” “Well Maw Maw, it looks like a cedar tree bungeed to the wall.” Of course, we had to tell her how lovely it was, but she knew. It was the yearly Mildred Hybarger act of defiance.

With the tree, somewhat safely put up celebrating would commence. Festivities were usually opened with my cousin Matt and me getting into a fight and the summarily being punished. Punishment would include making us hug or touch noses until we apologized to one another. Brilliant parenting move when you want to get kids who irritate each other to get along, make ‘em touch until they act right. After opening ceremonies the brothers, (my father and two uncles) would realize they needed to go get something from the store. Supplies often included motor oil and peanuts. All of them would pile into somebody’s pick up and proceed to be gone for five hours. Mooresville ain’t that big, the are not a whole lot of store choices especially on Christmas Eve. Farthest option was Roses and it was only ten minutes away.

Now the rest of us would have to wait for the prodigal sons to return before getting to Christmas feast, after about two hours past dinner time we would all break and just go to WHATA-BURGER up the road and get a WHATA-BURGER bruger (covered with chili and slaw) and a Witch Doctor (cherry lemon sundrop with dill pickles). Shut up-it’s awesome.

The worst was the year my father received a handgun for Christmas…cuz nothing celebrates the birth of our lord and savior like a firearm. I don’t think they made it home until midnight.