“Ah, yes,” he said, continuing, “it’s hard to know what way to bring up children. Now who’d think he’d turn out like that! I sent him to the Christian Brothers and I done what I could him, and there he goes boosing about. I tried to make him someway decent.”
He replaced the cardboard wearily.
“Only I’m an old man now I’d change his tune for him. I’d take the stick to his back and beat him while I could stand over him — as I done many a time before. The mother, you know, she cocks him up with this and that.…”
“That’s what ruins children,” said Mr. O’Connor.
“To be sure it is,” said the old man. “And little thanks you get for it, only impudence. He takes th’upper hand of me whenever he sees I’ve a sup taken. What’s the world coming to when sons speaks that way to their fathers?”
“What age is he?” said Mr. O’Connor.
“Nineteen,” said the old man.
“Why don’t you put him to something?”
“Sure, amn’t I never done at the drunken bowsy ever since he left school? ‘I won’t keep you,’ I says. ‘You must get a job for yourself.’ But, sure, it’s worse whenever he gets a job; he drinks it all.”
James Joyce, Ivy Day in the Committee Room, Dubliners, 1914