A few days ago I conversed with a stranger while waiting for banjo class to start. I do that now – play the banjo. Sitting on a bench, he was waiting for his jazz ensemble to begin. With a white beard, he looked to me like a sea captain or George R. R. Martin. We talked and he proceeded to tell me how he was forced to learn to play the banjo when he was young. He hated it. All I could picture was this man on a deck of a boat chasing whales and calling to them with his trombone.