Halfway through New Year's Day, my son (14) collapses next to me on the couch. Tired from celebrating New Year's Eve at a friend's house.
“It's January already, which means your birthday is in five weeks. Start thinking about presents,” I say enthusiastically.
He answers: “I want a car and a traffic jam, but it has to be a Ferrari. And otherwise I want other parents.”
I am witnessing an adolescent hangover, without alcohol.
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