When I was 6 my father went to Spain for work for a few weeks. When he came back he gave me a sword. It wasn't just any sword, however. It was a sword from Toledo, which as any child of 6 who is obsessed with knights, swashbucklers, and pirates can tell you is famous for its steel and the swords made from that steel. It was like a tale of old - my father journeys to a distant land to bring back a sword for his firstborn son (my brother also got a sword, but that's beside the point). The sword seemed huge, larger even than me. As I've gotten older and grown the sword has shrunk to normal size, but the immense magic that it sparked within me, the limitless places it took my imagination, still remain.