You know those charities where they give you the name and photograph of the actual child your money will help?

 That was my inspiration. This is like that. Kinda.

For the record, even though my ribs DO stick out sort of like the kids in those ads and there’s some talk about how I probably suffer from malnutrition, your financial assistance ISN’T needed to supply me with the staples of life. Mom claims she just barely has those things covered. The thing is, if I’m going to have the kind of summer that I’ll someday reminisce over and get all misty about when I’m—oh, I don’t know—somewhere around as old as you are, then Mom says I have to be creative and come up with my own funding.

I need your help so I can swim with dolphins (about $500) and also attend Summer Arts Camp (about $300). Mom says times are tight and I have to choose which of the two I’d rather do, and how even doing just one is going to be hard and yadda-yadda-doesn’t-grow-on-trees-yadda. If I want to do both, she says it’s up to me to figure out how, so I went online to research fund-raising and that’s where I ran across the Sponsor-a-Child idea.

Basically, what I’m asking here is for you to contribute whatever you can spare to help make the summer dreams come true for one very special child (me).  

For the price of just one cup of coffee a day (especially if that coffee is from Starbucks) you can help make the summer dreams come true for one very special child (again, that would be me).  

The dolphin experience isn’t just entertaining, but highly educational. Since I’m currently contemplating a career in marine mammal science, the experience could very possibly be one that alters the course of the rest of my life.   

CHOOSE YOUR LEVEL OF GIVING! 

Gold Level Donors are guaranteed to never again have their kisses wiped off. Gold Level Donors are also entitled to select the adjective of their choice to be added before their name and/or title. For example, should Uncle Rod elect to cement his position in my heart as a Gold Level Donor, he would—at the same time—have the option of forever after being referred to as my “Handsome Uncle Rod.”  But wait! There’s more! Additional adjectives are available for just $20 each, so for just a few extra dollars, Grammy could become my “Gorgeous, Skinny, Young-Looking Grammy.”

Cash, checks and PayPal accepted!

My friend Lisa was telling me about a recent rushed morning at their house. She had just finished showering when her 7-year-old daughter, Emma, barged in and was immediately distracted by the steamy window. Unable to resist the lure of drawing in steam, she scrawled a message.

“I (heart) America.”

So charmed was Lisa by her daughter’s combination of patriotism and innocence that she took a picture of the message.

“It probably sounds silly that even though we were all running late, I stopped what I was doing to take a picture of what Emma had written,” Lisa said. “It just hit me so hard. I’m not even sure why.”

There was something about Emma’s message that affected me the same way.  Her simple statement made me wonder what I would’ve chosen to (heart) if given a steamy window to write on. Even as much as I love our country, it wouldn’t have been the first thought that came to my mind. I’m not even sure how far past the sound of the ocean and the taste of champagne I would’ve had to go before it occurred to me that America should be on my list. It isn’t a lack of patriotism or dissatisfaction with how things are or have been in our country, it’s simply something I’ve been fortunate enough to take for granted.

In school, children Emma’s age are learning the very best about America every day. It’s all fresh and wonderful, and likely helps them feel safe. Their world is plentiful with protectors-parents and police, firemen and military, teachers and doctors, clergy and coaches. People who look out for their needs.

They’re taught the Pledge of Allegiance and patriotic songs, they learn how our country was discovered and how we tamed the wild West. They learn how we choose our own leaders and make our own laws, how we have programs in place to take care of those who need help and punishment for those who break the rules.

When you look at our country from the perspective of a seven-year-old, it’s a wonderful place. They only see that these programs and safeguards are there, not the problems and loopholes and abuse.

Most of what frightens children doesn’t frighten adults. We know there aren’t monsters in the closet or under our bed. We can hear lightening or sit in total darkness and not be afraid. But most children have something over on us adults fear-wise. Kids can read the headlines or watch the news without losing sleep.

Like so many in our country, I’m scared. This snowball someone started has grown mighty big and is picking up steam. Each new week seems to have the wrecking ball smashing into a different industry, from financial to automotive to newspapers. The list of bankruptcy filings in the newspaper has started to look encyclopedic. Businesses are closing or downsizing or furloughing employees.

It’s enough to make most any grownup wish for the seven-year-old’s equivalent of crawling in bed with Mom and Dad so they could feel safe.

My Pollyanna glasses have slipped so far down my nose, I’m not sure I’m strong enough to shove them back up.

I know this is a great country, and I know we’ve been through times worse than this and rebounded just fine. There’s no other country on earth where I’d rather live. Even at our worst, we still have it mighty darn good.

But that doesn’t mean I don’t long for the simple, innocent love for our country that Emma has.

I just hope Emma’s “America” doesn’t turn out to be the name of a boy in her class. 

When pharmaceutical companies are putting together those long lists of potential side effects of their drugs, I wish they’d consider adding a warning that simple exposure to certain brand names can potentially send some 11-year-olds into prolonged fits of the giggles. 

I have trouble with reflux, so my doctor put me on AciPhex. It’s a good drug. Does the trick. But come on–didn’t anyone in the pharmaceutical company’s trade name department bother to sound out the name before moving forward? It sounds like a category at the Oscars of Porn (”…and the award for Best AciPhex goes to…”).

I could understand if AciPhex was the brand name chosen for the evil drug that patients are forced to ingest the night before a colonoscopy, but according to the Stanford Medicine Magazine, “The FDA prohibits trade names associated with the product’s intended use and will not approve names that imply efficacy.”

So if I’m translating that right, trade names can’t imply any kind of a promise. They must be a meaningless, made-up word that’s still powerful enough to entice people into hurrying to their doctor to ask if this medication is right for them. 

But those in charge of choosing drug names clearly know what they’re doing. They understand how words and languages work and recognize the prefixes and stems they have to avoid (like like ‘brev,’ ‘vel,’ ‘mal’, or ‘mor’) since those imply other things (brevity, velocity, bad, and death).

According to Bill Trombetta, professor of pharmaceutical marketing at St. Joseph’s University in Philadelphia, the average cost of developing a new drug trade name is between $500,000 and $2.5 million, on average. Since the FDA rejects about one-third of all proposed trade names, Big Pharma takes much into consideration before selecting a name. (Apparently, sounding the drug name out loud isn’t one of thos things.)

Drug companies understand the way customers think when they’re in pain or depressed or fighting a chronic condition, how they’ll cling to the vaguest of promises, so they work hard to find a name that hints at what the consumer will get by taking their drug. Consider names like Wellbutrin (If I take this, I’ll be well!) and Claritan (Hey, I’ll bet that will make my sinuses clear! I don’t know why I think that, but. .  .).

I’m not saying these medicines don’t do exactly what they’re saying they do, but the names hint at effectiveness in a sneaky, sort of backhanded way. 

My favorite drug name these days is Abilify. It sounds like it was influenced by a four-year-old. I can picture a few pharmaceutical big-wigs straining for inspiration when a preschooler walks in, points to a pill and says, “What does that do?” 

“Well, punkin,” says one. “It makes people feel better. It makes them able to get through the day.”

“Oh, it abilifys them!” says the kid. 

And then there are the drug names, like Trixamet and Imatrex, that are so similar I wonder if those handsomely paid pharm folks didn’t simply agree on what letters they’d use, then tossed them in the air and used them in the order they landed. 

Usually, though, when I run across some of the newer drug names, the images conjured by those names aren’t even remotely pharmaceutical. For instance, to me, Lexapro sounds like the expensive car of golf instructor.  Lunesta is really the name of the warm-up band for Nirvana.  Concerta is where Lunesta and Nirvana perform. Simcor is clearly a descendant of Conan the Barbarian.  And Avelox calls to mind a Brit offering fish. 

Personally, I’m eagerly awaiting the arrival of one particular new drug to the market. I don’t even know what it does, but as soon as Damitol gets FDA approval, I’m off to the doctor to see if it’s right for me.