After a few months I moved out of my parents' house and into a row home in South Philly to begin my journalism career. I started my postgraduate life much like my undergrad one—as a single woman with no dating prospects.
Shortly after I moved, I had a date. I called my mom to tell her I had forgotten a few of my belongings at home. She asked what I was up to that night. I told her I was going on a date with a white guy. She roared with laughter, thanking me for being upfront. I broke the news that my new romantic prospect was Republication, knowing that wouldn't sit right with my blue-collar Democrat family. She groaned and pondered the lesser of two evils.
She offered to deliver the last of my stuff the following day. When my parents arrived, my dad was grinning. He asked how my date went. As I dangled the keys of my new house in my hands, I explained that I didn't really click with the guy.
I kissed my parents on their cheeks, saying goodbye. As they left, my dad put his light, fair-skinned arm around my mom's deep olive-toned shoulder.
"GeGe, when I came home with an Italian girl my parents hated it, " my dad said, stretching out the syllables of the word hate.
"He's right. Grandmom and Grandpop didn't want him to date me," my mom confirmed, nodding.
I melted. My dad has been going home with the same Italian girl for 30 years. His little comment—a quick remark he stuck in during a goodbye—was his way of telling me that when it comes to dating, it's worth it to break your parents' rules.
*Names have been changed
By GeGe Ryder for The Frisky