So when I was a kid we took a lot of martial arts classes; in fact, my brother and I went as high as the under 18s could go before we moved and had to quit the class. Our sensei happened to be the best in like, the country, and he was the sweetest old man you ever could meet. We were little shits and he had the patience of a saint.

Anyway, he was the best old guy ever. And every year, he sent us a Christmas card. Always covered in glitter, always signed in english and japanese. One year, in the middle of July, we get a call. Nakaya sensei had passed away. We weren’t surprised, as he was already up there in years when we were kids. Thing is…next christmas, like clockwork, we get the same christmas card in the mail.

Turns out he was alive and kicking, and it looks like he’s even teaching in the same old dojo more than a decade later; we checked, and nobody will admit to making the call.

And that’s my little holiday story