Viva Viagra!

One of my few pleasures in life is watching football games on Sundays. I can pour myself a cup of coffee, unfurl the newspaper and settle in for a few hours of relaxation and enjoyment. Even our little girl understands that daddy ‘needs to get his football on’ and, on her best days, she’ll even settle in beside me and try to understand why daddy can get so excited or upset over something that happens on TV. Daddy reads the paper. Daughter doodles in her coloring book. Men beat each other’s heads in on TV. All is right with the world. At least it was until yesterday.

During a commercial break, a familiar tune on a TV commercial caught my attention. The ad featured a group of middle-aged men, sitting in a room, playing an acoustic version of Elvis Presley’s “Viva Las Vegas.” Only it wasn’t “Viva Las Vegas.” No, the otherwise innocent lyrics had been bastardized to pawn an erectile dysfunction drug. Awesome.

Now, having a child, I’ve developed a skill for changing the channel on a moment’s notice, if the programming seems like it could scare her or otherwise evoke questions that can wait, oh, ten years, before I need to answer. But this commercial completely ambushed me. I like Elvis. I like the song “Viva Las Vegas.” No need to change the channel for that. Stupid me. As the song hits the chorus, the group of men in the commercial sing, “Viva Viagra, viva Viagra. Viva, viva Viagra!” (At this point, you have to suspend disbelief that a group of men would ever get together, break out their favorite musical instrument and sing about an erection pill. Maybe I’m alone, but I have never, ever, ever done that.)

I held my breath. Maybe my fears of an awkward encounter would prove to be unfounded. Then I heard the announcer list a string of disclaimers, “Men experiencing an erection lasting longer than four hours should see a doctor,” and “Ask your doctor if your heart is safe for sex.”

My daughter looked up from her coloring book and watched the commercial with greater interest. I, in turn, watched her with greater interest. The commercial ended, my little girl continued looking at the TV for a second, and then went obliviously back to her Hello Kitty coloring book. I exhaled audibly. The football game started again and I went back to my coffee and Sports section.

Two minutes later, I hear my sweet little girl’s perfect pitch voice singing: “Viva Viagra. Viva Viagra…” After initial horror, I chose again to ignore it. Ignore it and it goes away, right? Wrong. Apparently, catchy limp-dick jingles stick to toddler’s brains. When she was still singing the damn song a half an hour later, I decided that corrective action needed to be taken.

I took a minute to carefully plot my course. After all, it’s not like your parents, friends, or any child-rearing book prepares you for this situation. I launch into my solution. “You know, sweetheart, that song you’re singing is actually a pretend song that those men made up. They changed the words to one of daddy’s favorite songs. The real words are: (singing) “Viva Las Vegas…” Now, I’m no singer and for good reason. I can’t carry a tune in a bucket. So singing my ‘favorite’ version of this song certainly wasn’t making my case any stronger. And I couldn’t compete with the guys in the commercial. I mean, my buddies weren’t beside me harmonizing as we gleefully extolled the happy benefits of a rigid hard-on.

My daughter tolerated my painful rendition for a moment, and then hit me back with a shrug and: “I like “Viva Viagra” better." I knew that that was my one and only shot. Any more harping on my part and you can bet she’d be singing about Viagra to her kindergarten teachers and classmates in the morning. Besides, I should have really considered myself lucky. My daughter didn’t ask, “Daddy what’s an erection?” OR: “Daddy, what’s sex?” OR: “Daddy, why could that pill lead to problems with your vision or give you a four-hour rock hard woody?” Okay, I’m getting carried away, but you see my point!

As a society, are we really okay with allowing pharmaceutical companies to market directly to us? These commercials presume that there is no one better qualified to diagnose our body’s inadequacies than ourselves. And that’s simply not true. Because we as humans are idiots. Because very few have a medical degree. Because there are way too many of us who will pop a pill before we’ll ever look into a mirror and admit that a change in diet or lifestyle might do more good than any pill ever could.

No, some things need to be controlled by people other than ourselves. Those people are called doctors. Let’s allow them to do their jobs. In the mean time, I’m going to write my senators and representatives and have them introduce legislation to eliminate pharmaceutical ads from TV.

I know it’ll never happen. I just can’t help but shudder at the image of my little girl doodling in her coloring book, singing: “Viva Viagra.” My wife argues that our daughter is oblivious to what she’s singing and that it’s harmless. I disagree. It adds to my parental anxiety, which raises my blood pressure, which strains my heart, which may eventually lead to my premature death. You got a pill for that, Pfizer?