There's an heirloom in my family, from my grandfather's time in World War 2.
See, he was a doctor here in the country when the Japanese invaded, and he stayed because he and my grandmother had just gotten married at the time, and he really wanted to help people out here. Most other doctors decided to leave, and my grandfather being my grandfather, the choice was pretty much made.
One time, this officer (I never found out the rank, because my granddad didn't know) rounded up a couple hundred people, put them all in a house, and started firing at it. It wasn't one of those old, Spanish-style houses either: it was mostly wood, so there wasn't much cover. Luckily for my grandfather, the floor collapsed under him, and he managed to make it out alive.
A couple of months later, after he'd relocated to another city, a Japanese officer walked into his clinic: by his luck, the same officer who almost killed him. Granddad looked him over, then when the officer wasn't looking, pulled a gun out (he'd gotten a gun since that day) and shot the officer. He took the officer's sword, snuck out the back before the other soldiers heard the shots, and ran away to another city.
That sword's been in the family since then, as a "Remember the time lolo (that's what we call him) killed a Japanese guy?"