We were at the register in Wal-Mart when the lady running the next register came over and said, “Are you from such-and-such-a-place? It’s up in the mountains.” (I can’t remember the name of the place she mentioned.) Dad said no. She said, “Oh, I just wondered because there’s a little church up in there and there are several Russian families that go there. I thought maybe you were one of them. Your family is so beautiful.” I think we were a little surprised. Russian!?
Later that day, we were in the produce department of the grocery store and my mom was talking with this very nice elderly man. After their conversation was finished and he’d moved on, we went over and started picking out onions. The man came over again and said a few more things and eventually asked... if we were Russian! Once again we were a little surprised. After he was gone, I said, “Uh... mom? That’s the second time today we’ve been asked if we’re Russian! Maybe we should go with it and learn to speak some Russian!” I looked around at us. For one thing, we were standing near the onions. (I’ve read that Russians often eat plenty of onions and garlic and are very healthy for it!) But we hadn’t been near any onions in Wal-Mart! I looked around again. Hmm... looking a little ethnic (Mom’s Hebraic heritage coming out in us kids), long dark hair, jumpers, dresses, skirts, Dad’s black and grey beard, my dark green Tam O’Shanter (if you’re not clued into the fact that it’s an Irish hat...?), and the large family size. Yes, I guess we may have looked a little different. But, Russian? Hmm...
That brings to mind another interesting incident when we were driving to AZ. We had stopped for dinner, and an older man asked if we were Lebidevitcher Jews! (That’s a very orthodox brand of Judaism, but I’m not sure I’m spelling it right.) Same thing. My hat, Dad’s beard, plus this time he was wearing a black cabby hat.
