The storyteller

There was a storyteller who lived in a small village. He was shunned by fellow villagers who disliked his stories. They claimed that his stories were nothing more than ridiculous tales, untrue and at times, an insult to their intelligence. But children loved him. Whenever they saw him walking in the village, they swarmed him and asked him to tell them a story or two. There was always something magical in the way he told his stories for they made the children wonder and ponder; ask questions than seek answers; laugh and cry sometimes. They did not care if his stories were true or not. They did not have to believe. They only enjoyed listening to him. And they did not feel insulted for they had no pride nor prejudices to defend. Years passed, they stopped coming to him. That was then when they grew up.

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There's this saying:

The mind is a like parachute. It only works when it's open.