There’s no denying it, I make a fine Moola Moola

No offense to our other local lenders, but Home State Bank makes dreams come true.

I mean, did you know they have a T-shirt cannon AND a hot dog slingshot?

My only complaint is that they wouldn’t let me wield either when I made my public debut a couple of weeks ago at Jefferson-Scranton Elementary School wearing the bank’s Moola Moola costume.

Seems they feared giving a hot dog slingshot to a man at an elementary school inside a costume with limited visibility might be something of a liability.

Can’t say I disagree.

Last month in this space, I lovingly recalled being in Home State’s savings club for kids — Moola Moola and the Money Minders — as a wee one here in town 30 years ago.

I also lamented the fact that the bank didn’t quite know what to make of ol’ Moola — a big, purple, Grimace-like blob — in the era of social media. (I guess my generation was just more easily entertained.)

I even offered to don the Moola Moola suit whenever and wherever.

I just never actually thought I’d get the call.

Would I, they asked, wear the costume during a fourth-grade assembly at which Moola Moola would officially be retired and the bank would unveil its new Super Saver program?

Would I?

Would I?!

First, I had to try it on.

Suiting up in a back room of Home State and placing Moola’s freakishly large, plush green feet over my shoes was like a childhood dream come true.

In fact, had I had leukemia around about 1985, I would’ve wanted this EXACT same thing from the Make-A-Wish Foundation.

Being inside the Moola Moola suit, not gonna lie, instinctively makes you want to dance around, wave at everybody and give high-fives.

Even though I was only at the bank that day to try on the costume, I requested permission to make a pass through the lobby.

Hey, it’s Home State — they have a T-shirt cannon.

Naturally, permission was granted.

Before long, Home State President and CEO Sid Jones came out to see who was prancing around his bank inside the Moola Moola costume that hadn’t seen the light of day in a few years.

He got up close and peered into the eyeholes.

“It’s just me,” I said, almost apologetically, “Andy McGinn.”

It felt like he was peering right into my soul.

“Good God,” I could hear him thinking. “When Rick Morain was editor of the paper, he was a pillar of this community who served on steering committees and helped spur economic development.

“And now this one is dancing around in the Moola Moola costume?”

I guess this is just the way God made me.

But even Sid can’t deny that I make a damn fine Moola Moola.

On the day of the performance, I went for broke.

I danced. I pranced.

I doled out fist-bumps.

I even moonwalked.

Had I been confident I wouldn’t have crushed a small child in the process — that limited visibility thing again — I might have been tempted to bust out some James Brown-style splits.

It’s amazing what adrenaline can do for you.

Inside the suit, sweat was pouring out of me, so it’s probably a good thing they’re going to retire it.

With my arms sticking out from Moola’s enormous, fuzzy girth, I couldn’t do anything to wipe the perspiration from my brow.

My eyes stung from the salty streams of sweat — but the show had to go on and I wasn’t about to disappoint the collected fourth grade class.

Home State had sewn white, bushy eyebrows and a white mustache on Moola to signify that he was old and past his prime.

In reality, he’s been around since 1984.

I was given a cane to steady myself on, too, but I ended up using it like a performer might have done in an old MGM musical.

Or at least that’s what I was going for.

Home State has little information yet on the new Super Saver club. They passed out cards featuring an anthropomorphic dollar sign that said, “Hi, I’m Super Saver! Look for me next fall.”

I was actually kind of hoping they’d have a Super Saver costume already made, and the former and current mascots could have clashed right then and there in the elementary cafeteria, like Godzilla vs. Mothra.

Then again, maybe fourth grade isn’t the appropriate audience for either.

Today’s fourth graders are like mutated giants.

I genuinely feared for my life when they all gathered around for a photo. They were all tall enough to stare directly into my eyeholes, and each of them took turns manhandling the suit for a closer look inside.

Where’s a fully locked and loaded T-shirt cannon when you need one?

I’m thinking kindergarten is the perfect age.

After all, beforehand, I took the suit into the boys’ bathroom located just off the gym to get ready and there stood a kindergartner by the name of Cayden Stream, washing his hands.

He and I ended up having a nice conversation.

It reminded me of the time in Ohio that I sat backstage with actor Hal Holbrook and, in awe, got to watch his transformation into Mark Twain before a performance of his famous one-man show, “Mark Twain Tonight!”

As I prepared to leave the bathroom in my own costume, I heard a little voice from behind.

“Have a good show.”