I love my credit union.

After a recent deposit snafu with my bank of nearly 20 years - we've been customers through corporate takeovers, name changes and a revolving door of mascots - I've decided their bookkeeping just isn't up to my standards.

So I'm becoming a cheerleader for my credit union.

Back when we were just young pups with one child, working for a major network that we still watch religiously, we joined the credit union that was in the basement of my building. We saved a little, borrowed a lot, paid it back, put a little away, then borrowed a little more, all back before credit unions were allowed to have checking accounts or credit cards. It was a good way of saving when we could.

They would deduct a chunk of change from our paychecks without us seeing it and lo and behold, there would be money in our account! Doesn't mean we didn't immediately spend it on something silly like rent or car repairs, but they were our financial friends.

As life would have it, two more kids came along and with them, lots more expenses. Our accountant introduced us to The Bank, where we got a checking account. We even got to know some of the tellers.

By then, we had left the studio, but kept our credit union membership, just because we wanted to stay part of the family, so to speak. It was also nice that they remembered our names and said if there was anything we needed in the future, to come by and chat.

Time went by. Kids grew up and got their own banks. We watched The Bank become more security-driven (and rightfully so, nobody wants to be held up or hurt) and welcomed the advent of plastic-driven commerce, aka, the debit card.

This magical card soon replaced checks to buy groceries, clothes and other sundry items. It also replaced the human touch that we'd grown to appreciate.

Now, if I want to make a deposit and get money back, I go into a branch where I am greeted by an apron-clad clerk who points me toward other uniformed people standing at cash-free kiosks, who take deposits and give me a slip of paper to put in an ATM with my plastic card to get cash. I guess this is secure, but it screams impersonal to me. If they really wanted to provide customer service, they might adopt a few human traits.

Talking is good. Knowing their customers is better. Get a personality and I'm yours for life.

The bank's failure to do so is what's sent me to the drive-up window, which is how I've banked for the last few years. I've learned to appreciate the online account option, where I can check my balance and see which checks and debit card purchases have come in. It was here that I discovered their egregious deposit error and used the "contact us" function on my account page.

Let's just say that the response I received made me even more leery of leaving my money in their brand of sock. And the grammar in the e-mail made the writer in my wince with pain.

I asked for one of their customer service reps to give me a call. Still waiting. And no follow-up e-mail either.

So I picked up the phone and called an old friend. The lovely and enthusiastic Joan, who answered the phone and immediately recognized the babbling woman on the other end, remembered my husband's name and had all of our (accurate!) account information at her fingertips without me ever giving her my account number.

I think the last time I was in their office was a year ago. What a memory!

They knew me. They cared about me. They remembered back in the day and I felt like I'd walked in to Thanksgiving dinner on the table and presents under the Christmas tree.

I wept. In my heart, a thousand flowers bloomed. And I knew what I had to do.

Credit unions do rule, especially little ones like ours. They actually employ people who talk to other human beings. And they like me, they really like me.