Once, quite a few years ago, there was a little girl who spent most of the time with her grandparents. Her mother worked nights, and her father worked days and went to school; they were not home much. Her grandparents lived out in the country, and behind their house, as far as she could see were gardens and apple orchards and bee keeps for honey, and she loved it. But the best part was that she got to follow her grandpa everywhere, helping him work the orchard when she could, but usually just enjoying being around him; to her, he was the greatest guy on earth.

The little girl’s grandpa had a big, sparkly ring, which he wore always, on the third finger of his left hand. It had four large stones in it that flashed in the sun. It was large enough for the little girl to fit two of her fingers into at once. When they sat on the porch swing at lunch, or at the day’s end, the grandfather would remove his ring and let the little girl hold it in the sunlight, watching the prisms fly around her like fireflies.

When the girl was six years old, her grandpa died suddenly, and soon after that, her grandmother moved away from the country house and its lovely orchards. The girl also moved away with her family, and she never again saw the house where so many of her favorite memories lived. But, when she was ten years old, her mother told her that her grandpa had left her something: the ring he always wore, and that she always played with.

The girl was ecstatic. She tried wrapping the shank of the massive ring with yarn, but the yarn itched, and the ring was still too big for her finger. So she put the ring on a chain around her neck and wore it under her shirt, where she could look at it whenever she wanted to, and remember her beloved grandpa, the orchard, and the sunlit porch.

When the girl was thirteen years old, she lost the ring. It was there around her neck while she was at school, but when she got home, she discovered it was gone. The chain had apparently broken, and with it, her heart; she had lost her adored grandfather’s ring. She knew he would be upset at its loss, were he still alive, and she cried. She searched everywhere she could think of for the ring, but it was as if it had disappeared.

A few weeks after she lost the ring, the girl was sitting up late watching television; her parents had already gone to bed. When the movie she was watching ended, she turned out the lights and felt her way down the hall to her dark room, where she clicked on the light next to the door.

Her grandfather was sitting on the end of her bed looking out the window; he turned and looked at her. He was not changed at all. He still wore the denim overalls he always wore when he’d worked on the orchard. His eyes were sad but understanding and gentle. She was not afraid of him; she was afraid that if she moved, he would disappear. And then he spoke.

“Well, you lost my ring, did you?” he asked. The girl nodded slowly.

“I will tell you where to find it this time, but if you ever lose it again, it will be gone forever. Look under the building on stilts, next to where you and your friends were playing volleyball the day you lost the ring. Move the weeds; you will find it there.”

With that, her grandpa stood up, smiling at her; turning toward the window, he vanished. She could still see where he had been sitting, and she sat there too, and thought of what he had said. She wondered if it were true, or if she had been dreaming. After a while she went to bed, and her last thought was that she was going to look where her grandpa had directed her. The following day was Saturday; she would be alone on the school grounds.

The girl awoke early Saturday morning, hopped on her bike and rode the mile and a half to her school. She knew what her grandpa had meant, the portable classroom buildings in the back of the school…right next to the volleyball courts. The weeds under the portable were thick and dry, and she tried not to think of spiders or snakes as she crawled under the building. And then, when she pushed some weeds aside, she saw the ring, still attached to the broken chain. It was right where her grandpa had told her she would find it.

Over the next few years, the girl was much more careful where and when she wore her grandfather’s ring. Quite often she chose to leave it in her mother’s jewelry box, where she knew it would be safe. But she took it out and wore it on special days, always feeling her grandpa close to her whenever she did. The last time she wore the ring was on the day of her graduation from high school.

In her first year of college, her house was burglarized. The thieves took the blender, the toaster-oven, her brother’s album collection…and her mother’s jewelry box.

             & nbsp; 

I never saw my grandfather’s ring again.

I learned more about that ring as I grew up. It was platinum, with four one-carat diamonds set in a row across the top, with a Masonic symbol in the center. My grandfather had been a 32^nd Degree Mason. He had worn the ring as his wedding ring for years, only removing it for me to play with when I sat next to him. The ring was a size thirteen; my grandpa was a big, tall man.

I often wonder how much the thieves got for that ring when they sold it. It was quite a prize, and worth a lot of money. But I know they never got out of it anything close to what I did. I got the memory of my grandpa’s love. Those “diamonds” still sparkle in my heart.

Have you ever read the recent story on evil banks? Well, I am here to tell you, it is 100% TRUE. One establishment in particular, Bank of America, has become the bane of my existence, and has literally put my family into poverty this year. Because of this bank and their practice of "fee-ing" customers to death, we are close to being evicted from our home, have been forced to do without necessary medication, and had our power shut off twice in the past year.

My husband opened the account with them last year, when he began his current employment. His employer also does business with BofA and he thought it would make things easier. He was terribly wrong. When we got married, I started depositing my paychecks into his account. I had eschewed banks four years earlier; I did not trust them. Two months, and five paychecks went by, with no problem. Then, the bank decided to kick back my paycheck without any notice, telling us that they did not accept third-party deposits. That was the first we had ever heard of this "policy". Their action, however, did net them EIGHT overdraft fees at $35 a pop. It also caused our mortgage and utility payments to bounce. We not only incurred thievery from the bank in the form of their excessive "fees", but we had to pay the bounce charges on the payments that we were confident were in good standing.

Several more times this year, BofA randomly, with no notice, put a "hold" on my paycheck, thereby allowing them to bounce more payments and collect more "fees". The hold time is usually seven to ten days, even though these were payroll checks drawn on a bank right across the street from my bank branch. (When was the last time you wrote a check that took ten days to clear your account? I am thinking around 1987, before the computer boom.)  When I made a complaint, I was told that if I had enough money in my account, or if I had a credit card with BofA to cover overdrafts, the "check hold" would not cause me any problems.

Last month, I wrote a check to my landlord for the mortgage payment. When it was submitted, the bank returned it, citing yet more "holds" on our funds. We had no notice of this, and when I went in to my branch to inquire about this, I was told there were no holds on our account. Still, the bank returned the mortgage check twice more, even though there was more than sufficient funds in the account, costing us three more "fees" and costing our landlord over $100 in fees from his bank, a cost he gladly passed on to us. I have NEVER received a satisfactory explanation for this. I was simply told that "it must have been a mistake". Must be nice to continually make "mistakes" that everyone else pays for.

Yesterday was the piece' de resistance. My husband had a tooth pulled. When he attempted to pay the dentist, his debit card was declined. He called me and asked me to look into it, since, according to our records, we had over seven hundred bucks in the account. I was appalled at what I found. Four days earlier, the bank had withdrawn over three hundred bucks from our account, without our knowledge, for "account recovery". I was told that this meant that they had found an old account with a negative balance on it and just decided to take the balance from our account. Of course, this resulted in more overdrafts and more of their $35 "fees"...EIGHT of them to be exact. Our account is now three hundred bucks overdrawn.

I had an account with my ex-husband at BofA. It was closed SIX YEARS ago. Because of the actions of my ex, the account was over two hundred dollars overdrawn when I closed it. Two years ago, I paid them the overdrawn amount,  plus interest, of course, at the request (demand) of a collection agency. I was told the matter was settled.This is the account balance they are collecting...AGAIN. If I cannot prove that I paid them off two years ago, we are screwed, again, this time to the tune of $700.

Our mortgage is due next Tuesday, as is our car payment. Thanks to this latest scam by BofA, we can pay neither. Again.

This bank has literally stolen over two months' collective salary from us this year. That amounts to about $8000. There is nothing we can do about it, except close the account for good and try to deter others from letting this bank steal from them as well. STAY AWAY FROM BANK OF AMERICA!!!!!!! If you have an account with them, CLOSE IT! Go to a credit union, or anywhere else.

We currently have a complaint lodged with the Better Business Bureau, and are seeking legal assistance with this as well. Wherever we go, we are told that this is par for the course for this bank.

Bank of America...Bank of Opportunity (for them to bleed you DRY!)