I didn't mind. I could have looked at the straps holding up her nylons or, more accurately, the inner sanctity of her thighs, forever."Pay attention, ...ohn," Mom chided, readying her hands on the keys. I did the same, though I was loathe to tear my eyes from between her legs. "Do you remember this one?" she asked. I nodded, and Mom began to play. We had to begin twice because I fumbled the keys but Mom was patient, even smiling while waiting for me to start again. It was a familiar piece, a duet. Next day he knew nothing about it and wondered why his feet were so dirty.I phoned the doctor when he was at school and the doctor said it could be down to the accident and it something starts up again in later life if the person is under stress.He said my son might subconsciously be thinking about the accident. He said it was nothing to worry about and make sure his room had the floor clear and that there was nothing sharp he could fall on. Other than that just keep an eye on him and made sure. More

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