Lisa Carnley is managing editor of the Lampasas Dispatch Record. When I was in middle school, I played the violin. Well, maybe “played” is too strong a word.

I think my shining moment was when I mastered most of “Twinkle, Twinkle.”

When I pulled the bow across the top of the instrument, it made sounds akin to a cat in a back alley -- kind of screeching noises. Now, I know a lot of people say that’s what a violin sounds like to them, but it was definitely true in my case.

I was thrilled to be a part of the band. I got to wear the wonderful uniform. And it made me feel like I was a part of some secret club. I just know everyone looked at me and was so jealous -- until they heard me play.

Much to the band director’s chagrin, I was not a model student. I hated to practice. I never did learn to read music. I “played” during concerts -- again to the chagrin of the director. I guess I was able to eke (or, more to the point, eek) out a few notes without being too distracting to the fiddlers around me.

I kept that up through the sixth, seventh and eighth grades, and I’m sure the director expelled a huge sigh of relief when I hung up my bow for good.

The high school band director probably danced a jig when he found out I wasn’t transferring into his program. I bet my exploits on the violin preceded me, and he had already heard about the girl with the heavy bow and no sense of rhythm.

But I was not deterred in middle school. I stuck with it because I enjoyed participating in concerts and listening to music when it was played the “right” way around me. How some of those violinists could make the music sound so pretty I never figured out.

For one concert, each violin player (there were about 10 of us) was assigned to play a few notes for a solo. The director probably got chills just thinking about my turn.

So when doling out the assignments, I’m sure he was trying to figure out how the band was going to be able to drown out my “music.” And when he realized that wasn’t going to happen during a solo, he did the next best thing: He gave me a triangle to play.

But when you have a tin ear, you have a tin ear, and you know there is no instrument that is going to sound right coming from those lips or fingers.

The director never discouraged me from playing (at least not to my face). He just told me to “tap” the triangle as lightly as I could, figuring the triangle versus the violin was the lesser of two evils.

Both my sons played in the band when they were students in Lampasas, and one of them (Zach) even had great success.

Both boys were students of retired longtime band director David Hausmann, and he had infinite patience. My older son, Jason, didn’t hear very well, and I know it was a continuous chore for Mr. Hausmann (and former middle school director Paul Fellows) to attempt to teach music to a youngster who was “hearing challenged.” But to his credit, Mr. Hausmann never gave up, even though Jason finally did after eighth grade.

I’m fairly sure Mr. Hausmann was dreading Zach’s participation in the local band program, but he had to be pleasantly surprised that Zach’s skills were good. But so was his hearing, and that made the difference.

In my case, hearing or not, I probably should have handed in my bow early on, but I was having way too much fun. And I sure did look good in that uniform.