Who says romance is dead? The other night when I got home from work, the woman who is my wife met me at the front door and said she had something special she wanted to share with me. I knew both kids were out until later in the evening, and so my imagination began doing jumping jacks in preparation for running away with me.

I followed Wendy into the dimly-lit family room, and we settled down next to each other on the couch with a glass of wine. At that point, Wendy hit the Play button on the VCR remote, and we proceeded to watch a two-hour video called “Merlefest Live.” Merlefest is an annual bluegrass music festival held at Wilkes Community College in Wilkesboro, N.C., to honor the memory of Merle Watson, the late son of bluegrass and country music legend Doc Watson. The video consisted of two hours of highlights from the three-day festival.

Now I have nothing against music or music videos. I’m with Samuel Johnson who said that of all noises, music is the least disagreeable. And I am a big fan of bluegrass as well. But my fondness for bluegrass pales in comparison to Wendy’s passion for the stuff, and that’s largely due to one factor – the central role that is occupied in bluegrass music by one instrument, our friend the banjo.

The banjo is a peculiarly American instrument that has taken more than its share of ridicule and scorn over the years. As someone who ought to know once said, if the banjo was any good, the Beatles would have used one. And you may have heard one of the many banjo jokes tossed around these days by thoughtless banjophobes.

For example, the definition of perfect pitch is when you throw the banjo into the dumpster and it lands on the accordion. Or what’s the difference between a banjo and an onion? No one cries when you cut up a banjo. Or what’s the difference between a banjo and a lawnmower? You can tune a lawnmower. There are even websites devoted exclusively to making fun of the banjo and banjo players.

All of these cruel jokes at the expense of the poor, unassuming banjo hit particularly close to home these days because playing the banjo had become Wendy’s new love. If you were to walk into our living room and look at the collection of instruments lying about, you’d think you stumbled into a family of musically talented individuals, and you’d be right, with one rather large and glaring exception.

The closest connection I personally have ever had to making music was the short time I subscribed to Rolling Stone magazine, and I canceled that subscription after I heard Frank Zappa say rock journalism consists of people who can’t write interviewing people who can’t talk for people who can’t read.

So even without the Merlefest Live video, our house is almost always alive these days with the foot-tapping, head-scratching sounds of the banjo. And it’s a particular treat when Adam and Lauren join in on their instruments. It’s just a pity there are not more songs written for a trio consisting of a piano, a trumpet and a banjo. We’ll have to return the Merlefest video one of these days, which is a pity on one level, but a welcome clue about an acceptable holiday gift item for a particular banjo player I happen to know.

Next week I’ll share a little story about Thanksgiving, my personal favorite holiday. Until then, what’s the difference between a fiddle and a violin? Who cares, neither of them is a banjo!

Tom Tyner of Bainbridge Island writes a weekly humor column for this newspaper. This is from his “Classics File.”