Café Nero was crowded this morning. When I spotted a neighbor of ours, Monique, I joined her at her table. Her two-year-old son, Oliver, was with her. As soon as I sat down she told me she and the kids were ill for a month. “The two of us are out for the first time,” she said. I asked her for details. “Oliver and his little brother had whooping cough,” Monique explained while stroking his head. Oliver nodded seriously. “It was quite something,” she added with a painful expression on her face. “You must have suffered a lot,” I said to him in a deep voice and peered into his eyes. “Yes,” he nodded again and looked at me gravely. Today suffering kicks in earlier than when I was a kid.