I tortured my family when I was in high school.
Every morning, I'd trot downstairs to the music room, which shared a wall with my three brothers' bedroom, carefully tune my violin, and proceed to work on a lengthy series of scales, arpeggios and etudes. While they were trying to sleep.
And again, every night, after everyone had gone to bed, I'd get out the old fiddle, and practice some more. Sometimes, I would be so kind as to leave the music room, and practice in the living room, so that not only could basement-dwelling brothers enjoy it, my violin could resonate throughout our entire house.
I imagine there was some celebration when I left home for college, although I continued torturing everyone else I lived with since--from roommates, mission companions, my spouse, to my children. To all of those who endured the screeching and scratching for countless hours: