One of my younger brothers was a handful. My dad used to lay number 25 on him: 'One day you'll have kids, and I hope they turn out just like you.'
So he grew up and had three sons just like him; he got divorced--and my mom and dad wound up raising all three of them, right after their youngest of eight left home.
Fortunately, my parents had more patience (and more class) than me or most people. They considered having kids in the house a blessing, instead of a curse.