So there are a few things to explain before I go into the story, for context.

1, When I was growing up, I was a very imaginative kid. We had a big yard, a two story playhouse with a slide and swings, and and a huge array of different terrains, structures and mounds that made playing outside entertaining. I was always pretending I was a soldier on the front lines, or a Jedi mowing down battle droids, or... A knight in shining armor...

2, I was a pretty good kid. Most of my misbehaviour was due to ADHD and lack of self control. I was never defiant or malicious. I love my parents, and I've respected them since before I can remember. Because of that, my dad was always relatively lenient with me about restrictions and stuff. He tought me what I needed to learn, punished me when I misbehaved, and other than that, he was chill. I never had any real desire to disobey them or get into mischief intentionally, but accidents do happen...

3, My dad is a sword collector. He was a man at arms during medieval fights like the ones they have at Gulf Wars, and he's always had a fascination with bladed weapons and combat. So he's got a lot of swords, and you'll find some hanging on a wall in every room of the house...

Every. Room....

So once upon a time, when I was about 8 or so, I was feeling creative, my energy was flowing, and it was about time to don my shining armor and go play outside. My parents aren't home, I'm all by myself. As I walk out of my room, I turn around and happen to glance the sword hanging from my wall. The sword that I've been staring at since I was a mere infant. The sword I've been fantasizing about taking off the wall one day and wielding in battle... My birthright. And I decide, today is the day. I take the chair in the corner of my room, put it against the wall, and mount up to my destiny. It takes some effort to get the wire holding the sword undone from the peg. Almost like my parents didn't want it coming off the wall. But I'm determined, and it finally comes free. I hold the sword in my hands, admiring the black, ornate scabbard. And I draw it. The shining metal blade casting dancing sparkles along the wall, dazzling my very soul. I had my weapon. It was time to go on an adventure.

Out in the yard, I'm having the time of my life. No tree, nor wall, nor stuffed bear will stand in my way, I whack them all. Crossing mountain tops, ducking behind banks, crawling through trenches, and ambushing my targets stealthily. The bicycle helmet propped up on a stick didn't suspect me, until it was too late. Eventually, my enemies vanquished, I approach our playhouse. Did I say playhouse? I meant ULTIMATE OMEGA CASTLE, with a gorgeous princess stranded at the highest peak. I climb the convenient ladder, swiping at guards all the way up, I take the princesses hand and we slide down together. It's easy for two people to slide at the same time when one of you is imaginary. With my mission complete, and my adventure at an end, I lay my sword to rest in a luscious garden. Once a sandbox, now filled with straight and beautiful plants and weeds. And then ADHD kicks in and I get distracted doing something else entirely.

My parents get home later that day, I'm playing with toy trucks or something. They wave, I wave, they suspect nothing.

A little before dinner time, my father gets a call from my aunt. Panicked screaming over the phone, my dad bolts out of his chair and runs outside. Turns out, my cousins, 4 and 5 years old respectively, who stayed at my grandmother's house on the other side of the property, had come out to play in the playhouse, acquired my sword, and were taking turns attacking each other with it. Luckily, it was a cheap $20 replica sword, crappy metal, blunt tip, dull edges. This sword, actually: https://www.sharpimport.com/spartan-infantry-hoplite-short-sword

My parents were at least smart enough to avoid storing the razor sharp battle ready swords in the room with the 8 year old. Regardless, it was a sword, and it was dangerous. Luckily no one got hurt, but it was obvious how the sword got from my bedroom wall to the sandbox, and I knew I was in for it. Normally in these situations, I'm expecting a spanking, or getting grounded or having a toy taken away. What I did not expect was for my dad to sit me down, and explain to me the depth of how badly I messed up, and what could have happened. This is the first time I can recall him using the not mad just disappointed trope, and he also explained to me that I had "broken his trust". What that apparently meant, was that for almost a month afterwards, I was not worthy of being left home by myself, and my freedom was heavily restricted. It wasn't necessarily the restrictions that bothered me so much, that was a pretty normal punishment. What really tore me up was knowing that my dad couldn't trust me to be the good kid and make smart decisions on my own because of what I had done. This went on for almost a month, until my dad felt confident that I had learned from my mistake, and wouldn't be repeating it. At which point, the trust bond we had was mended, and I promised never to be irresponsible with swords again. (Which is a promise I broke when I accidentally stabbed myself in the foot with my own sword as a teenager and nearly bled to death, but we won't go into that here). My dad was excited that I was following his interest in swords, and got me a retan practice drill sword. Basically a hard plastic sword with a thick rounded side instead of an edge. He taught me a few sword fighting moves with it, and that was my adventuring sword from then on. Until I tore it up in a week, disappointing my father yet again XD

Now I'm an adult, in my own house, and I collect my own swords. I will probably never forget that first experience, and I have never left a sword in the sandbox since.