He is trying really hard to figure out how to get them from in front of his face to in his mouth.

They call them fingers... but you never see them fing.


Woah, there they go.

Word from gramma..Ten little fingers..just what you need to play the piano sweetie.

No piano allowed. No other artsy careers for that matter. He has to become something solid - like an accountant.

Good Lord! Why is anyone giving My Granchild "piano" lessons yet?
Rob: put it back!
Alex: Wharhol? Piccasso? Just give the "mother lovin chile" to me and I got him made.
I could todally toor "merica" with that.

oooooh yea, like a chartered accountant or something - I hear they get all the ladies.

It was Beverley's fantasy..not mine! Everyone knows that Hell is filled with pianists playing scales..and accountants too for that matter.