ONE OF THE THINGS that has always impressed and mystified me is musical talent.

By the way, I have none. I'd like to think I do, but the real truth is that I don't.

You won't see me auditioning for American Idol, making an ass of myself. I don't need someone to tell me in a British, West Coast or hip-hop accent that my singing is dreadful. Hell, I can do that right now without becoming a national laughingstock.

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A classmate of mine from long ago, Rich Hayward, is the first person I saw to play an accordion in person ... live. Well, it wasn't really an accordion – just a little thing with bellows and a few buttons. Rich and my brother, Tim, were the tallest kids in our sixth grade class. Anyway, Rich showed up at our house one day and played his little accordion. I was really impressed, because he actually seemed to know what he was doing. I don't know how he did it, because a sixth grader isn't supposed to have that much talent.

I confess that I don't know why Rich Hayward was in our house with his little squeeze box. I remember him pulling on that thing and sort of becoming a different person. His body was moving and shaking like nothing I'd ever seen before. He was possessed. He had turned into this little toe-tapping white boy with rhythm. It was like a "hallelujah revival" but without religion.

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The kid who now lives across the street from me has incredible musical talent. I can easily imagine him playing in a symphony some day. Good for him. I hope he does it, and if he keeps at it, he will. Go Adam.

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An American who was working in Beijing played the trombone. I didn't learn this until after I'd known Matt Roberts for about two years. I was making regular trips into China at that time, and Matt and I were working on a project (http://chinese.wsj.com).

I went to see his jazz quartet (bassist, pianist, drummer and trombone player) in a very dark club. I'm sorry, but I can't say this it was cozy or smoky. It was a two-story bookstore or something. Anyway, I loved watching him play.

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I have an incredible amount of respect for musicians. And I love music and all of its intricacies.

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I took two music classes during my first two years of college. The first was a music appreciation course. I found it engrossing. The second was a piano course. I actually liked it, but I knew then that my career path wasn't going to be Mike the Musician.

The piano teacher was a bit rough with a woman in her 50s. I felt sort of bad about that.

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At my mother's insistence, my sister played the violin. I don't think she really wanted to do it. Her playing wasn't natural. It didn't sound like a symphony of cats, but it was obvious that violin lessons weren't her idea.

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My first clue that music wasn't in my future was in the fifth grade. One thing we had to do during music class was stand in front of the teacher, Mr. Aiello, and sing solo while he played the piano. Then he would stop, and you would sing. Out loud. So others could hear.

The others did it, but when it was my turn, I froze. I opened my mouth – nothing. He tried again, but my vocal chords were frozen stiff. He had a better chance of prying a tooth out of my 9-year-old head with a rusty pair of pliers than he had of getting a single note that day. Finally, he gave up and shooed me away.

I remember peering into his dark eyes, set behind giant coke-bottle lenses in thick black frames perched atop his large nose. He was slightly balding, although his hair was black. He probably was a nice-enough guy, but that was the end of my solo acts.

Not surprisingly, I never considered trying out for drama club. My stage aspirations were gone.

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My brother, Tim, took guitar lessons when we lived in California. I want to say that the teacher was a hippie, but I can't remember if that was the case. But for the sake of this, yeah, he was a hippie. I remember him learning chords and that's where my memory ends. If he learned a song, it probably was Peter, Paul and Mary or Simon and Garfunkel. Damn hippie!

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I once tried to learn to play the guitar. My sister sounded like Itzhak Perlman compared with me. Talk about stiff. Think of the movie, "Frankenstein," and you're getting close. I eventually gave the guitar to a neighbor when we moved. He had even less talent than me. He was thrilled. It was liking watching a squirrel with a shiny new button – really excited to have it but not a clue what to do with it.

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"Momma's got a squeeze box, Daddy never sleeps at night." – The Who

I don't think this song is really about accordions.
 

 
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