Mistaken Identity
Posted on August 19, 2009
Demetrye came home last night after a work-out and told me a story that had my toes curled from laughing.
For those of you who do not know, my husband is a realtor in Longview, WA [and a great one at that 
]. He was born and raised in the great U.S. of A, and there is not “foreign” bone in him, except for his ancestry. Ironically, his mother gave him a Russian name, although the name “Demetrye” originated from a Greek name—Demetrius. We, Russians, made it ours over a thousand years ago, when the entire country accepted Christianity and was baptized. At the time of baptism, since Christianity was brought from Greece, every Russian was given a Greek name. In fact my name, Elena, is Greek in its origin as well.
As you can imagine, having a Russian name AND being married into a Russian/Ukrainian family causes a lot of confusion when it comes to Demetrye, especially for those who have never seen him face to face. It is quite funny that his first name throws people off and they completely fail to notice that his last name is as English as they come.
A few days ago, Demetrye was making a phone call to schedule a viewing appointment for his client in Vancouver, WA. When he finally got a hold of the selling realtor, she tried speaking Russian to him. He told her that he did not understand or speak Russian, however it did not immediately register with her and he had to explain that he is not Russian, but African American, and only his first name is Russian.
Yesterday he gets home and tells me: “You won’t believe what happened to me today…” and proceeds to tell me that he was trying to schedule another appointment, also in Vancouver, WA, for a client of his, and had to speak with the owner to arrange the time for viewing the house. The owner of the house was not available, so Demetrye left him a message. Shortly after, the guy calls him back, and barely allows Demetrye to say “Hello”, before going off on a 2 minute, all Russian rant. I can just imagine Demetrye trying to interrupt him to tell him that he does not understand him, which he did, but he finally had to give up and listen… until the man, Victor, ran out of words. Demetrye, with a sigh of relief, told Victor that he does not speak Russian. “Ty ne govorish po Russki?” Victor exclaims (which means: “You don’t speak Russian?”) Well, Demetrye knew that much, so he had to, once again, tell yet another person, twice in the same week: “I am not Russian. I do not speak Russian. My first name is Russian, but I am African American. I am, however, married to a Russian woman.”
My poor guy, he had me rolling when he was retelling the story—he can be very dramatic. I think that he needs to record this tagline on his answering machine to avoid any further confusion. The funny part is, even those Russians who meet him face to face, seeing that he is in fact not Russian (hello!), once he introduces himself, ask him the same question: “Do you speak Russian?”
Demetrye, babe, you make me laugh, and for that I thank you! You do know that your name was a sign for me that we are meant to be together… (joking, of course).
I wish everyone a wonderful day!
-
Jessica
