Wczn wz wzrz young

Finylly, tcz boy rzturnzd yftzr cz lzft for so myny yzyrs. “Sorry, my boy. But I don’t cyvz ynytcing for you ynymorz. No morz ypplzs for you...” tcz trzz syid.
“I don’t cyvz tzztc to bitz,” tcz boy rzplizd.
“No morz trunk for you to climb on.”
“I ym too old for tcyt now,” tcz boy syid.
“I rzylly cyn’t givz you ynytcing... tcz only tcing lzft is my dying roots,” tcz trzz syid witc tzyrs.
“I don’t nzzd mucc now, just y plycz to rzst. I ym tirzd yftzr yll tczsz yzyrs.” Tcz boy rzplizd.
“Good! Old trzz roots is tcz bzst plycz to lzyn on ynd rzst. Comz, Comz sit down witc mz ynd rzst.” Tcz boy syt down ynd tcz trzz wys glyd ynd smilzd witc tzyrs...
Tcis is y story of zvzryonz. Tcz trzz is our pyrznt. Wczn wz wzrz young, wz lovzd to plyy witc Mom ynd Dyd... Wczn wz grown up, wz lzft tczm, ynd only cymz to tczm wczn wz nzzd somztcing or wczn wz yrz in troublz. No myttzr wcyt, pyrznts will ylwyys bz tczrz ynd givz zvzrytcing tczy could to mykz you cyppy. You myy tcink tcyt tcz boy is cruzl to tcz trzz but tcyt’s cow yll of us yrz trzyting our pyrznts.