Viva Viagra

What a title! Guaranteed to get a click! But it's really not what you think it might be--whatever that is. It's about none other than Casey, KZ, KC, K or what ever he has titled himself this month. And, he truly has no idea what viagra is.

The topic--TV commercials.

Since I have only one 9 year old in my life, I have no point of comparison. Hopefully someone can enlighten me as to whether ours is normal. He so often seems to be--not abnormal--but, minimally, marching to his own drummer to a beat a little off kilter.

Casey becomes mesmerized by commercials. The world stops, he enters into an unbreakable trance and this boy, who finds it near impossible to focus on anything for more than moments, becomes captive to the sights and sounds of the latest pitchman.

Did you know that you can desecrate a white shirt with chocolate, berries, and other wild concoctions and that the magic of Oxyclean will make it like new? Being quite adept at tuning out television in general and commercials in specific, I did not know this--which may be why I have white things that are not spotless. Anyway, as Casey inspected his red sweatshirt emblazoned with a large, magic marker drawn Spiderman image, he patiently gave a "did you know" explanation of the wonders of Oxyclean and that "it really is true" and that we should try it on his sweatshirt. Evidently he has grown tired of Spiderman.

Then there are "the" Green Bags for only $9.99." He not only stands transfixed each time he sees the advertisement, he impatiently tells me that I should hurry and order at that moment so that we can get 20 bags rather than just 10. At the dinner table he has educated Ken to these marvels and that gramma needs to get some. And--best of all, he can apply this knowledge to real situations, proving that he really does belong in the class for high achievers. Yesterday, or was it the day before ?, as I muttered about moldy strawberries, I was reminded, with the self-righteousness that only a 9 year old can conjure up, that this would not have happened if I had the green bags--they not only would they have saved me $'s but they would save my life.

The first time I became aware of this strange predilection was in Italy where demonstrations of a product can go on for a full half-hour or more as a pitchman and his scantily dressed female cohort extol the wonders and capabilities of the "must have" product of the day. This was when we saw Casey stand at attention for minutes at a time, absorbing the magic and wonders of the newest in toilet and drain plungers. You could have waved a bag of Skittles in front of him and he would have been oblivious. Red dye running through a transparent tubing would have blinded him to his most favorite of foods. And, of course, he was sure that we needed to have one to bring home with us to San Diego. (We didn't.)

Now--back to Viagra. The final proof of Casey's addiction to the brain mushing inflicted by Madison Avenue came the other night at bedtime. He and I usually spend a few minutes talking and playing before I am required to sing a little song--the sillier the better. All of a sudden, I hear "Viva, Viva Viagra!" After stifling my laughter, I asked him what that meant--what he thought viagra was. To my relief, he had no idea. I guess that concept is a little more difficult than green bags, Oxyclean and plungers. I don't want to even think about a recital of the advantages and results of this modern-day pharmaceutical wonder. But, I am sure that is just around the corner.