For some reason, we've always had some sort of drama surrounding our Christmas trees.
When I was young, around 4 or 5, my father, sister and I were disassembling our artificial tree. It was the kind where the pole in the center was made of wood and the branches were twisted metal at the base. I was eager to do more than just put the pieces in the box, so I begged to help pull the branches out of the tree. I came across one branch that didn't want to release itself. I braced myself and pulled with all my might. The branch came loose and the tip went right into my face, about an inch under my right eye. My father came over and was assessing the damage when my sister said, "I'll get the peroxide!". That was when I started screaming.
The scar has mostly faded, but I still take every opportunity I can to remind her that she was what made me cry that day, not the injury!
Another story I've heard, but don't remember for myself, has to do with us getting a real tree that was too big for our living room. My father trimmed it, but not enough, so that when he went to set the tree upright in it's stand, it put a small hole in our ceiling.
The most recent adventure we had with a real tree was in 1988 when I was home from college for the holidays. My mother, sister and I went to a farm to select a tree. This place had the option of cutting or digging your tree. As we trudged through the snow, staying close together to try to keep warm, my sister and I noticed that Mom had "disappeared". We turned around to find her on the ground. She had tripped over a hole where someone had dug a tree and the snow had covered it over. That injury led to Mom needing surgery a few months later. Whenever we even consider getting a live tree, one of us will bring up our last trip to the Christmas tree farm and the suggestion quickly fades away.