The Basement

I dated a guy who, when I'm honest with myself, was ashamed of me. The pathetic part is that I was nothing to be ashamed of, and the saddest part was that I actually put up with it. From date number one, he told me that his parents would never approve of me, because we were from different cultures. I had never considered this being a factor in my dating life, growing up in a very accepting household with parents of different faiths and backgrounds, and I suppose I underestimated the effects of parental disapproval and what some may consider racism. I completely understand why parents hope that their children will grow up to love another of the same background. However, living in Canada, we should be, and usually are proud and accepting of the multiple cultures that are represented in our neighbourhoods.
All I wanted was to be accepted and welcomed into the family (how things change as you get older!) and I would have done anything for his family's approval. Early in our relationship, on a particularly frustrating visit to the basement, I pointed out that to his parents (and to him?) I was as well-liked as a good student, busy volunteer and nice girl as I would have been as a drug addicted prostitute (seriously, I said this). He could do nothing but agree with me on this point.
When I think about it, if he had really been that into me, he would have put up more of a fight, rather than only inviting me over when his parents were out, or basically hiding me in the basement when they were around.