Not a real duck

This is more than just a shirt.

It’s false advertising, for one. Because I didn’t go to the University of Oregon — I’ve never even visited their campus. Also, I don’t live in Oregon anymore, and, as much as I miss it, I doubt I ever will again. I don’t even particularly like ducks. (Sorry.)

But this shirt is more than a shirt to me.

In March of 2025, I was in New York City for the first time in 21 years. I went with a friend. The excuse was to help chaperone some high school students attending Model UN, but (for me) it was really just an excuse to return to a city that has fascinated me for my entire life but was always too far away and too expensive to visit.

My friend and I like to walk. A lot. Which is good, because not only is walking often usually the most convenient way to get around Manhattan, it’s the best way to experience one of the most rewarding aspects of the city: encounter. From being pleasantly jostled by a multitude of languages while playing chess in a park, to sidestepping bike messengers and joggers, to bonding with a stranger over favorite books in a tiny bar, there are moments of encounter everywhere you turn. It’s both delightful and bewildering, energizing and exhausting. New York is a place that cooperates. You simply have to coexist. That’s how it works when so many are packed so tightly with so many different goals and needs.

One night, my friend and I were out late, hunting for just the right street food, when several modified cars — BMWs, Audis, and other ‘sport sedans’ with custom wheels and paint, spoilers, and loud mufflers, darted out of traffic and assembled in the bus and bike lanes. My first (private, internal) reaction was indignation. Who did these guys think they were? Bikes began peeling onto the sidewalk or weaving into traffic to get around them, like water around a jumble of rocks. A bus had to switch lanes so as not to hit them, missing the bus stop. What about the folks who planned to get off here? I was ready to be angry. These guys were selfish, arrogant. Jerks. Somebody make them move their cars, now.

My friend didn’t hesitate. I didn’t know what was coming. He walked up to the nearest driver, baby-faced with a thin mustache, now lounging on his hood and lighting a cigarette. He tensed as we approached.

“Hey these are some nice cars, man. Really cool. Looks like you put a lot of work into them. So what’s your story, you and the rest of these cars here?”

The wary look on the face of the driver dropped away. “We’re a club! This guy,” he pointed, enthusiastic, to a young man nearby, “is our mechanic. And this guy,” pointing the other way, “is our parts man.”

My friend nodded appreciatively. “I can hear the power. I bet they’re fast. Your guys must be good at what they do.”

I was still wrestling with annoyance. I hadn’t decided yet whether to engage with any of this, despite being someone who loves cars and runs my own car club of sorts. Another bus skirted us, bypassing the blocked stop. More bikes whizzed by. Cars and delivery trucks honked at us. The driver seemed utterly oblivious.

“So why here?” My friend waved at the street. He was the picture of relaxed, genuine interest. “I mean, you’re kind of blocking traffic.” There are was no hint of accusation is his voice.

“Man, it’s the city. Nobody has any space. You gotta take something for yourself sometimes, make room for the things you love.” No more wary looks, only earnest movements, a flash of white teeth. “We want to be out, you know? It’s the weekend but there’s no place to go, not with a bunch of loud cars. We won’t stay long. But this spot is ours for now.” He flicked his cigarette away and grinned like a kid, without an angle, brow clear.

Annoyance dissipated slowly, a deflating balloon, leaving me quiet and a little ashamed.

My friend had chosen curiosity first, before any why and the weight of that word’s implied disapproval. Sure, these drivers were breaking laws, inconveniencing others. But my friend left room for encounter before interrogation, and in the space he allowed, they took on human, relatable, shapes. Not jerks, despite doing something objectively jerky. They were merely trying to carve out a tiny fragment of the world to call their own, if only for a moment. Just like us.

My friend loves the University of Oregon. He loves the green and yellow school colors, the stylized O. He even loves the duck. He didn’t go there either.

But I bought this shirt for those days when I want to remember the person I most wish to become: Someone who is curious first, like my friend, before all the rest. Someone who chooses encounter and understanding before admonishment, before separating ‘me’ from ‘them’. A person who looks for the human first, tries to catch a glimpse of the things we share under the clever disguise of the unfamiliar. Justice can come later.