My grandfather’s ring isn’t much to look at.  A broken gold band with a large red stone, it actually looks like a toy ring that comes from the quarter machines that are such a temptation for young children.  When it was used as a “stand-in” ring for the ring-bearer’s pillow at my brother’s wedding, it was almost thrown away by the best man because he thought it was a fake.  But it is so much more than that.  This is a ring that my grandfather (a survivor of the U.S.S. Arizona), wore every single day.  He actually wore this ring more than his wedding ring – much to the dismay of my grandmother.  No one is really sure of what this ring represented to Grandaddy; one aunt tells me it was his high school ring, another tells me it was a Navy ring.  Whatever the meaning, it is a cherished family heirloom that is quite coveted by the rest of the family.  The only reason I have been allowed to keep it is that Grandaddy himself gave me the ring on one of the last visits I made to see him before he was admitted to a nursing home that specialized in patients suffering from Alzheimer’s.  We had just taken one of the long drives in the country that he so loved, and I was getting ready to leave.  I gave him a hug, and he told me to wait a second – he had something for me.  I held my hand out, expecting the normal parting gift of a crisp one-dollar bill, but was surprised when he placed the ring on my palm.  I tried to tell him I couldn’t take his prized ring, but he insisted.  He gave me another hug and sent me on my way – the home health nurse was coming by soon & he wanted to comb his hair before she got there. 

Since that day, Grandaddy’s ring has been my most prized possession.  Its story is well-preserved in my heart, and by the time I pass the ring along, its next owner will know the story just as well as I.