Parents and grandparents sometimes debate which musical instrument is the most painful in the hands of a beginner.

Our nomination for first place is the violin, with drums coming in a distant second. Sure, drums can rattle the windows, but only a violin can peel paint from the walls.

The xylophone, also under our roof years ago, was the instrument least likely to make me consider spiking the gravy.

Neighbors contend that a beginner on a clarinet can strip hair from your ears. Others claim the oboe takes first place.

My personal stint in music was at the piano. I took lessons at a conservatory and was in a recital with more advanced students when I was quite young. My piece was “The Lost Bear,” which had a repeat in it. I was nervous in front of all those people and kept taking the repeat.

I wondered if I would ever get Lost Bear home, or if Miss Wanda Casey, the most patient teacher ever, would be compelled to walk on stage and close the piano lid on my fingers, which would have been applauded by the audience. Lost Bear finally made it home and I never played in another recital.

A friend who is an excellent musician says that a French horn produces some of the most beautiful sounds on earth.

Our twin granddaughters took up the French horn last fall and sometimes bring them to the house because what’s a little more noise at Grandma’s?

Their grandma on their daddy’s side attended college on a music scholarship and plays French horn in community orchestras. Their daddy’s side has a deep bench of musical talent.

When our side joins their musical side for birthday parties and they sing “Happy Birthday” (we are smart enough to not sing but just mouth the words) their harmonies are so beautiful it can bring you to tears.

If our side were to sing, it would bring their side to tears. But for entirely different reasons.

The sounds coming from the French horns in our family room are like a momma cow delivering an extremely large calf that is breech.

Just when you think it can’t get any (choosing my words carefully here) louder, another granddaughter acquired a French horn as well.

And now there are three. Three cows delivering calves in breech position.

Nearly every instrument is painful in the beginning. I’m not criticizing; I’m just learning endurance.

The three French horns were here again not long ago, practicing the song they began learning several months ago. Even wearing my bright orange headphones for ear protection, I recognized a few stanzas that sounded positively lovely.

The road from beginner to beautiful may not be as long as I thought. If all goes well, the calf should be delivered soon and their musical piece performance-worthy.

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