We were all sat watching telly when my son George, then 5, scooted close to the screen.
Pressed his nose up against it.
Not again.
‘George!’ I cried.
‘Stop doing that. You’ll get square eyes!’
It was what my mum told me when I was young.
George pulled away, but moments later he was inching closer again.
Squinting and pressing his face up to the screen.
‘I can’t see it properly,’ George grumbled to me and my husband Oliver, then 44.
Around that time, his schoolteacher took me aside one day.
‘George doesn’t seem to know his colours,’ she said.
I was shocked.
I’d taught George and his little sister Farrah, then 4, years
