When my girls were growing up, they both took piano lessons.  The half hour of practice had to be worked out, so I had Becky practice in the morning from 7:00 to 7:30, and Pat from 7:30 to 8:00.  They hated the schedule, but were thankful when they got in from school that they had already practiced and had the afternoon and evening to themselves.

Becky enjoyed it.  She kept it up through the years.  Pat didn't--she would rather have been reading a book.  But both of them learned to play well.  Thirty minutes a day didn't hurt either one of them.  Scott however was harder to corral.  He didn't like the piano, and since I felt that each of them should learn to play an instrument, we got him a guitar.  Which he learned to play.

But Jon.  Child number four.  Well, by that time I didn't have any backbone left to force anyone to practice anything.  So I told him to join the school choir.  Which he did and became an all-state tenor.

In the 50's, everyone played the piano.  I did, too.  And spent four years in the band playing marimba, drums and the bell lyre.  I can still close my eyes and feel the September to November dew that covered the football field every morning from 7:00 to 8:00.  My shoes and bobby socks would be soaking wet before I ever got to school.  And that didn't even count as a class.  Band met in the afternoon.  And of course,  another hour marching at the Friday night game doing the routine that we had practiced every morning that week in all that wet grass.

Which meant that with my piano practice, band, and choir, I spent almost three hours a day in music.  Things like that take practice. But once  learned, you have it for life.  It was fun. 

"Make a joyful noise unto the LORD, all the earth: make a loud noise, and rejoice, and sing praise. With trumpets and sound of cornet make a joyful noise before the LORD..." Psalms 98:4,6