Duck and Dodge

p Itrsquo;s funny the steps one takes to avoid or dodge people at any given moment. In my case, the ducking or dodgingmdash;stealth as I may bemdash;is often accompanied by guilt after the factmdash;along with the requisite post duck and dodge analysis. The duck and dodge is something I inherited from a family of duck and dodgers, namely my father and uncles. This is not to imply that the various members making up by beloved bloodline do not confront things head-onmdash;to the contrarymdash;for in their heydays my uncles amassed a string of knockouts on the street (before the days of span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="youtube" data-scaytid="1"youtube/span cell phones) that, if you lined the victims up lengthwise, would stretch from Fillmore Street to the Philippines. While I never witnessed any of these knockouts firsthand, I give them the proper reverence during their recounting by keeping my ears open and my mouth shut. /p pThe subtext or premise of the duck and dodge is avoiding a person (or persons) that one does not want to talk to at a given moment. My father termed this phenomenon: I donrsquo;t want to get into his shit. I remember his way with peoplemdash;polite and humblemdash;and he knew a lot of people. It seemed every time we went out he was running into someone he knew. Hersquo;d stop and engage in conversation that ranged from brief to long-winded. Most of the guysmdash;no, all the guys he knew were black; and my father, being Filipino, was black toomdash;black laughter, black talk, black walk, black style. There were times when dad didnrsquo;t want, for one reason or other, to engage in chit chat. I remember sitting in the car with him when he suddenly said, ldquo;Ah shithellip;I know this brother walking towards ushellip;emI donrsquo;t want to get into his shit right now/em. He then, in a beautifully choreographed move, covered his face with both hands as if in agony, contemplation or in the process of blowing his nose. He then parted his fingers slightly, peeking as if through a venetian blind. He kept looking until the brother passed bymdash;the coast being clear. It turned out that the brother owed my dad money. It was, I reasoned, a reverse duck and dodge, with the brother being able to save face while my father hid his. As dad explained, ldquo;Itrsquo;s not that Irsquo;m anti-social, I just didnrsquo;t want to get into the brotherrsquo;s shitrdquo;. /p pAnother master of the duck and dodge is my uncle Anthony. Uncle ldquo;Antrdquo; is a street minister whose ministry is the Tenderloin and downtown. He passes out tracts with the lordrsquo;s message, but there are times when he too, ducks and dodges the children of God to maintain his sanity. My uncle employs high tech means in his strategy: The cell phone. When he finds himself wanting to get out of a chit chat resulting from a chance meeting on the street, hersquo;ll pretend to receive a phone call. It goes like this: Uncle Ant: Hold on blood I got a phone callhellip;.hello? What! You span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="lyin’" data-scaytid="3"lyinrsquo;/span! What hospital you in? When that happen? Oh man! Look, Irsquo;m in the area. Irsquo;ll shoot on over there. Uncle Ant then apologizes for not being able to stay and partake in the chit chat. He walks two blocks to his imaginary friendmdash;passing out more tracts in the processmdash;before ending up at McDonalds or the Louisiana Fried Chicken/donut shop with the pretty Thai girl working the counter. /p pI found myself confronted with a duck and dodge situation recently. I was on Facebook, pretending to be a genius, posting quotes by famous men (and women) Irsquo;d never heard of. As I typed I heard the distinct blip sounds of Facebookrsquo;s instant message systemmdash;a system that allows people to know if yoursquo;re online and to send you instantaneous messages--basically Facebook#39;s version of a span class="scayt-misspell" data-scayt_word="chatline" data-scaytid="5"chatline/span. I recognized the person sending the message but I wasnrsquo;t in the mood to ldquo;get into his shit...onlinerdquo;. I was in a quandarymdash;what was I to do, ignore his message or respond, although I didnrsquo;t want to? I came up with a schememdash;I didnrsquo;t respond. I walked to the bathroom and took a seatmdash;not out of any bodily need but from a need to bide time and quell my guilt hoping that the wait would prompt my Facebook friend to throw in the towel on me. I sat for quite some time on that seat thinking that sometimes you just donrsquo;t want to get into anybodyrsquo;s shit but your own./p