I have one, but it's not a christmas holiday story, it's a 4th of July holiday story. My Dad was born on the 4th. of July and usually always had the day off so we could have a birthday get together at our home. This included the cook out in the back yard and the usual jam session with all his music buddies. He was a police officer and had a country western (yes, that's what they called it back in the 60's) band on the side. This time he had to be on duty, so we had a cook out anyway and he would stop in for his lunch. Well the nieghborhood was fairly quiet as he was eating when all of a sudden we heard BAM, BAM, BAM, BAM, ETC... I never saw my dad move so fast in all my life. His plate of food went flying as he ran to his patrol car and screeched in reverse out the drive-way and peeled rubber as he headed up the street with siren blarring. As he started to speed away here comes our nieghbor from across the street yelling, "Stop, stop it was me, it was me." Well of course my dad didn't hear him and radioed in, gun shots fired in the vacinity of Sycamore Avenue. When all was over and the nieghbor apoligized I think the police department never made my dad work on his birthday again. They couldn't afford the man hours it took to investigate the so called guns shots, which were actually fireworks.
Finally things have started clicking for me, my knees, my elbows, my back, etc...