Chapter 1: The Kazoo Conundrum

Have you ever found yourself pondering the existence of a kazoo? You might think it's a simple task to hop into your car and procure one in no time. Perhaps you imagine that a stroll in the park might yield a kazoo nestled beneath a swing. Some might even believe that if they attend a child's birthday party, a kazoo will surely pop up in the goody bag.

You might think that if you rummaged through your garage, a kazoo would eventually roll out, albeit possibly accompanied by some mouse droppings. Why am I fixated on kazoos? Just yesterday, my son dashed downstairs and asked, “Can I buy a kazoo?”

“Of course,” I replied. “But why?”

“Is there a reason I shouldn't have a kazoo?” he countered. I started to contemplate the various reasons against a kazoo purchase:

• It’s too pricey. Not really.
• It’s wasteful? I'm not quite sure what that means.
• Maybe he should deliberate for a day or two? Why? It’s a kazoo, not a luxury car.
• It’s an impulse buy. So? It’s a kazoo, not a puppy.

“What sparked your interest in kazoos?” I inquired, taking on the role of detective.

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“I don’t know, Mom. Can I have a kazoo or not?”

“Did you spot a kazoo on TikTok or YouTube?” I asked, trying to get to the bottom of this kazoo mystery.

“No, I just want one,” he replied, giving in under my questioning.

What had triggered his desire for a kazoo? I pressed further, “What made you want a kazoo?”

“I don’t know. I just do.” I could feel him wearing down under the pressure.

“Where do you even find a kazoo?” I asked.

“Amazon?” he suggested.

“Not Amazon,” I replied. “I don’t want some overworked warehouse employee trekking miles just to fetch you a kazoo. Where else can we get one nearby?”

We turned to Google and typed in “kazoo near me.”

“Let’s go,” I declared, armed with a list of local stores that might have kazoos.

I couldn't even count how many shops we visited—many.

And yet, no kazoos to be found.

As we drove from one store to another, we called ahead. “Do you have kazoos?”

“No, we’re out,” many of them responded.

Who was hoarding all the kazoos? It was the Jewish high holidays, and while I could recall the occasional kazoo at a holiday gathering, it certainly wasn’t a kazoo fest.

We were running low on options, even resorting to checking grocery stores’ seasonal sections.

“Do you have a kazoo?” we asked a young employee at Jewel.

“What’s a kazoo?” he inquired. I nearly fell over.

In Seth Rogan’s memoir, "Yearbook," he recounts meeting celebrities with peculiar names—specifically Sigourney Weaver and Sylvester Stallone.

As Seth stood before them, he realized how unusual their names were. This was exactly how I felt when the young man asked me to spell kazoo. It felt foreign.

K-a-z-o-o.

“What is it?” he probed.

Great question, I thought. I had never defined a kazoo for anyone before.

“It’s like a horn,” I said. “But smaller.” That description sounded a bit off.

We drove home without a kazoo. With ten dollars burning a hole in his pocket, my son settled for chocolate milk instead.

I remembered we had a harmonica tucked away in the garage.

“Would you like a harmonica?” I asked.

“No,” he replied.

“It’s like a fancy kazoo,” I said, feeling my explanations improve.

“That’s fine, Mom,” he said, “I just wanted a kazoo.”

He dashed upstairs while I slumped onto the couch, worn out from our kazoo expedition.

Just a few minutes later, my son rushed back down.

“Mom! I know who has kazoos!”

“Really? Who?” I asked, intrigued.

“Sylvester Stallone and Sigourney Weaver!” he shouted.

At last, our quest had come to an end. I reached out to Sigourney and Sylvester, and they immediately drove over with a kazoo.

Bad news: their kazoo was filled with mouse droppings.

A special thanks to T. Kent Jones for his fantastic edits.

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