Back in the early 1990s I was teaching seventh and eighth grade kids at a small schoolin Rainsboro. The school was out in the country, which will be relevant shortly. Anywho, since we’re getting close to Christmas I thought I’d retell the story.

‘Twas early December and alas, my room had no Christmas tree. Of course, we couldn’t go without one so a nefarious plan was hatched.

For reasons known only to me at the time, I sent three eighth grade boys into the woods behind the school on a Christmas Ttree search. Oh, and I might mention they were armed only with a hammer, which I’d found in my desk. What can I say? It seemed like a good and funny idea at the time.

They’d been gone about 45 minutes when one of my students yelled, “Mr. Shoe! They’re back!” We all looked out the window and sure enough, there they were, dragging what appeared to be a beautiful 6-foot Douglas fir behind them. As they drew nearer you could see where the bottom of the trunk was splintered from when they chopped the tree down with the claw end of the hammer. Long story short, we fashioned a tree stand by cutting a hole in some books, decorated the tree with some really ugly ornaments, and we were in business.

It was only after we returned from Christmas break that I learned where they’d found the tree — in someone’s backyard.

Oh, and one more thing. We had to get rid of the tree eventually, so I had another genius idea. We took the tree out to the playground and, while still in its stand replete with all its ornaments, ignited it and watched it burn.

And as it did, we all sang, “Oh Christmas Tree, Oh Christmas Tree, Oh how we love to burn you.”

It was a memorable moment, trust me.

Folks, I swear this happened. I have witnesses.

How I kept my job back then is still a mystery to me.

The scariest Christmas

This is a story that I’ve told several times over the years, and folks are usually either interested, dumbstruck or skeptical. Actually, I’d say 70% skeptical, but for the life of me I can’t imagine a reason for making something this weird up.

Believe me, what you are about to read is true.

Before we begin you need to know that my older cousin John lived across the street from us with his parents and twin sisters when I was a kid, and he was always playing tricks on me. Trust me, this will be relevant to the story in a few minutes.

It was Christmas morning sometime in the mid ’60s, and my sisters and I had awakened in the pre-dawn hours to open our presents. It was still very dark outside. We were all sitting on the floor, tearing open our gifts, awash in the Christmas spirit.

Then, as I was opening a present I saw something out of the corner of my eye. Our front door had a small, diamond shaped window on it, and as I looked up I saw a face pressed against the glass, looking down at me from about 20 feet away. I laughed, certain that it was John coming over to see our presents.

I jumped up excitedly, went to the door and opened it, but nobody was there. Still laughing, I ran across the street in the freshly fallen snow thinking it was cousin John messing with me. John’s sisters were up too so I went in the front door and asked where he’d gone, only to be told he was still in bed. Skeptical, I ran into his room but sure enough, there he lay sleeping.

At that point I still thought he had simply run home and was pretending to sleep, but something told me to go back outside and check something out. I did and there in the snow was just one set of tracks.

Of course, the tracks were mine, leading from our house to theirs.

I remember standing there sort of in shock, disbelieving what I was seeing.

I went back home and, since nobody else had seen what I had seen, my family sort of shook their heads and moved on with Christmas.

What the hell had I seen that morning? To this day I don’t know. I do know that I’d seen something.

And as I write this I swear to you that I can still see that face, sort of pressed and distorted against the window pane, looking down at me.

And it still gives me a little chill.

I once recounted this story to a fourth grade class. As I finished, there was a hush among the students as they sat in wide-eyed wonderment. Then, in the back a little girl’s hand went up and the following exchange occurred:

“Yes, Kelly?”

“Maybe it was Santa Claus.”

Why of course it was. Why hadn’t I thought of that?

Dave Shoemaker is a retired teacher, athletic director and basketball coach with most of his professional years spent at Paint Valley. He also served as the national basketball coach for the island country of Montserrat in the British West Indies. He lives in Southern Ohio with his best friends and companions, his dogs Sweet Lilly and Hank. He can be reached at https://shoeuntied.wordpress.com/.