For years, my family has gone out to cut down our family Christmas tree the day after Thanksgiving. Some years it was cold. Some years it was warm. Some it snowed. Some it was muddy. Each year was different and fun. But one thing remained the same... each year me and my two brothers would pull off the pine cones and chuck them across the Christmas tree farm. And we did that until one fateful day - the day of the errant pine cone. You see, when we went to cut down our tree, other families were there as well. And this day, the day of the errant pine cone, we heard a sound after I threw my pine cone. Actually, we heard a couple of sounds.
First, I heard the sound of my pine cone hitting something. Next, I heard the sound of a large man yelling, "What the fu*%!" Next, I heard a small child start to cry. Finally, I heard the footsteps of the large man walking in my direction. They were so loud at the time that they sounded like Goliath coming to kill me.
As the large man came in our direction, he was carrying his little boy. Supposedly, my pine cone hit the boy in the face. I think, based on the sound the pine cone made, it hit the boy's large winter coat. It just didn't sound like it hit flesh. But I can't prove that now. What I do know, is that had to be one of the most embarrassing moments in my dad's life. We left that day without a tree. We eventually got one that year. That's how my parents roll. But we never again threw pine cones.
Now, years later, and I mean years later, we still go out and cut down our family Christmas tree the day after Thanksgiving. And each year, we say the same thing... "Remember when Todd hit that boy in the face with the pine cone?!" And then I say, "I still think it hit him in the coat."
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