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“Four gingerbread men sat on a tray. The first one said, ‘Let’s run away!’ The second one said, ‘Where will we run?’ The third one said, ‘We’ll have some fun!’ The fourth one said, ‘We’ll be eaten if we stay!’ So the gingerbread men all ran away.”

I’m not sure how far the ginger boys got, but if they made their move Friday morning, I suspect it was all over when they reached the Newport Dunes resort.

That’s where a gaggle of laughing and yelling pre-schoolers from the North Tustin Blind Children’s Learning Center were gathered, as they have been every Christmastime for the last 10 years, ready to dive into all the feels and sounds and smells of Christmas.

Your basic gingerbread man has the same chance of making it out of there intact as a mouse that stumbles into the opening session of the National Convention of Cats.

And yes, the kids are sight-impaired, but if you try to explain that to them, they’ll just think you’re being silly.

The kids got to run around a Christmas tree lot, touching the branches and smelling what is possibly the greatest smell in the history of smelling, and they heard Santa make his noisy entrance then grabbed a few handfuls of his beard, fuzzy suit and boots.

“You just can’t tell a blind kid not to touch,” said Sharon Mitchael, special events coordinator for the Blind Children’s Learning Center. “That’s their eyes.”

But the bell ringer, hands down, was decorating a giganormous gingerbread man.

Do you understand what that means? It means getting to squish icing in your hands and through your fingers and toss sprinkles and Red Hots everywhere and anywhere at will and without any chance of recrimination.

Does it get any better than that? I don’t see how. It’s the kind of thing that could happen only at Christmas.

It was a great event, just the kind of merry brawl that small people love, but it was the image of a giant gingerbread man that stayed with me.

I’ve always been ambivalent about gingerbread men. Actual gingerbread? Freshly baked, still warm, love the stuff, can’t get enough. Gingerbread houses? Lots of fun, anywhere from cute to works of art.

But gingerbread men? Hate to say it, but they creep me out a little. Not as bad as clowns with some people; just a little. Maybe it’s the candy eyes and mouths, like they might start talking to you at any moment.

“Hi. I’m the Gingerbread Man. Can you help me get up?”

Maybe that’s why I never thought Mr. Bill was all that funny.

Granted, he was Play-doh, not gingerbread, but the same feel, I thought. But neuroses aside, here is the question: Where did the g-men come from?

Well, as it turns out, gingerbread has been around for centuries, but the gingerbread men and houses that we know and love (sort of) got here directly from Western Europe, first Germany, then England.

As early as the Middle Ages gingerbread gets a mention here and there, but that could be a trick because the term originally just meant preserved ginger, which came first from the Latin word “zingebar” then the French, “gingebras.”

By the 1400s, Europeans were baking all sorts of things that would smell and taste like gingerbread to us, whether as a moist cake, or a crisp cookie, in colors and degrees of spiciness that were all over the map.

By the 1500s, everybody and his serf was baking gingerbread in clever shapes and decorating them with icing and other sweets.

By the 1600s, “gingerbread fairs” were hugely popular — local festivals that featured fresh gingerbread in every shape and of every description.

To this day at harvest fairs across Germany, there are rows of stalls filled with gingerbread hearts decorated with white icing and tied with bright ribbons.

In the late 1600s, gingerbread hit the big time when gingerbread guilds were established, which meant that making gingerbread was a recognized profession and could only be done commercially by certified artisans. Before long, gingerbread became an art form, delicately shaped and intricately decorated.

With the great wave of European immigration here, gingerbread men and gingerbread houses settled in across the land and quickly became a fixture at Christmas time.

Be honest: Did you ever think those cute little (slightly spooky) gingerbread men had such a history? Me neither. I think it’s great, as long as they don’t start talking.

“Gingerbread, gingerbread, turn around. Gingerbread, gingerbread, touch the ground. Gingerbread, gingerbread, climb the stairs. Gingerbread, gingerbread, say your prayers. Gingerbread, gingerbread, turn out the light. Gingerbread, gingerbread, say goodnight.”

I’m sorry, but it’s still a little creepy. Maybe I should talk to someone about it. I gotta go.

PETER BUFFA is a former Costa Mesa mayor. His column runs Sundays. He may be reached at [email protected].