Draft

Loud thuds echoed through the home as Carlo stomped up the stairs to his room, screaming as he slammed the door behind him.  I chuckled along with the rest of his family as his father,  yelled after him in his Italian accent, "Carlo, your dramatics are perfect,  you should be an actor!" The few Italian lessons I had taken allowed me to make out the just of what Carlo was yelling about.  That night we were going to the disco with his friends, arriving at midnight and returning to their town home around seven in the morning.  Being accustomed to the laws and culture in the USA, I was shocked that his parents would allow us to be dancing and drinking all night at the disco in the first place, but Carlo had a different idea. 

It was not enough for us to just to go to the disco. He had decided that he wanted to drive us there on his motorcycle, and then drive us home after our night out.  In my mind I immediately saw this as a horrible plan.  I thought it was common sense, motorcycle+drinking+disco for seven hours=bad.  His parents even took it upon themselves to set up a ride to and from the disco with his friends.  But Carlo wanted us to ride his motorcycle.  He was set on this idea, it did not matter what I or anyone else said; after he decided what he wanted, all hell broke loose when anyone tried to convince him otherwise.

I watched as his father calmly tried to explain the logic behind the planned out ride to the disco, and the lack of safety relating to his motorcycle idea.  The more his father explained, the more Carlo yelled.  Silently, I observed the scene, and thought about how much Carlo was reminding me of a young child.  His tantrum of yelling and screaming was something that I would have never seen happen in my household, so it caught me completely off guard.