Since Mo turned 15, there has been much talk of getting a learner’s permit. In Costa Rica, the driving age is 18 so parents here have awhile to face this. But if Mo wants, he can get a learner’s permit in the states and drive here with it, I guess… I’m not sure on the law. I’m definitely not sure I could stomach Mo driving here. Except that if he could drive here and live, he could drive anywhere and live, right? Should I be getting some comfort in that?

So, much talk of driving while planning the trip to the states. Once we got there and got busy, talk lessened. He did the drug course online (what a crock). And studied the book online ("Do you have to know ALL these signs?") But, basically, he got too busy in Key West. And, besides, the thought of driving in Costa Rica is just not that appealing, even to a teenager.

In Naples, where we spent the night with Jal’s mom, we all got an excellent lesson. While driving around – and, trust me, if you are in Naples, you are driving around – we happened upon a tow truck hauling away the wreckage of someone’s really bad day.

For some reason, it hooked us: we couldn’t look away. Too long in Costa Rica, I’m guessing. Or maybe too much C.S.I. Las Vegas. We started trying to figure out what happened, gathering clues with our eyes and imaginations. Our analysis: he swerved off the road and hit a post. Or a guard rail. Whatever he hit, he hit hard. And his head hit the windshield. Also hard. Way hard. That was sobering for all of us, including Mo. Pefect timing, from this mother’s point of view.

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