Treating youth ministers like silver medal ministers.

Treating youth ministers like silver medal ministers.

this is funny stuff.

Sandy Lost a Step

After I was done checking out at Meijer the other day I was pushing my cart towards the exit and I walked by the beloved 1 cent Sandy horse ride for children. In a flashback at that same moment I remembered the days when I could fit on that horse and would proudly ride the untamed, wild beast whipping at it's rear end, pretending to run wild through the aisles of Meijer.

It was comfortable then too. I remember the genuine leather saddle that practically screamed official former cowboy saddle memorabilia. There was probably still gun smoke smells forever stained into it from gun fights outside the OK Corral against those hooligan Pettleton Brothers Gang always terrorizing town. Or, it was countless rear ends of smelly, poopy pants children rubbing their rear ends against priceless, genuine memorabilia.

Back in 1989 I remember almost getting bucked from that wild stallion. That sucker sure had some power and it sure ran hard. After several visits to Meijer for groceries with my mom and several pennies begged from her purse I had eventually mastered the wild Sandy. Other children would get on excitedly only to have no knowledge of how to control it's unbridled electric power. I would snicker as I waited in line ready to show the next riders how it was done, and when that 45 seconds of bucking, galloping insanity was over, I would proudly get off as all the patrons of Meijer watched in amazement.

And then as I saw this little girl riding the mighty Sandy, I realized, the Mighty Sandy was hardly an image of her glory days. She had lost a step. It barely rocked...forward...and back...with no power, no untamed wildness like she once had...she's been tweaked her and there over the years to keep her going, including a fiberglass saddle, no doubt hard and unforgiving on the gallops.

I'll always remember the good ol' days Sandy.

Ride on good buddy, ride on.

Ode to Herman.

It's hard to find a person who influenced me greater in my elementary school years (other than my dad of course) than Herman Moore, the great Detroit Lions wide receiver of the 1990's-early 00's.

Not only was he, along with Barry Sanders, the reason I watched Lion football, but memory of his lanky, freak body catching bombs from Scott Mitchell Sunday after Sunday is forever etched into my mind. That is probably why I still am a fan today. The legends of yesteryear continue to give me hope. (johnnie morton! germane crowell! brett perriman!)

I had his jersey, and still do. I had his cards, and still do. I destroyed other teams with him in Madden renditions on the Nintendo 64. I even had his haircut. (and unfortunately still don't). A dutch boy rocking the Herman Moore 'fade up/steps' haircut at calvin christian elementary was a sight to see. I fondly remember sitting in the chair meticulously directing the haircut ladies how to properly do a do like herman moore's, the basic #2 on the sides just wouldn't cut it for me. they hadn't seen a cut greater. I would then proudly return to our house to display my haircut to my dad, also a proud Herman supporter, to which he would smile big and cheer jealously (wishing he could do the same no doubt). A father could not have been prouder.

So, Herman. Thank you for influencing my life, but mainly, for the fashion pointers. I would have never made it through 3rd-6th grade without the 'Herman Fade'.