The bench in the park.

Every morning at the same time, the old man sat down on the bench in the park.

He was reading an old book that he already knew by heart, but he always opened it in the same place.

Passersby got used to the sight: his cap, his stick, the book and his smile were always in the same place.

One day a little boy stopped in front of him.

"Uncle, why do you always read the same book?" he asked sincerely.

The old man closed the book and quietly replied:

"Because it's not the story that changes, it's me."

The boy smiled, but he didn't understand it at the time.

Years passed. New benches were added to the park, new trees grew, and one day

the boy – already an adult – sat down on the same bench.

He took out his own book, which he had read when he was a child,

and he felt what the old man had said:

It is not the written lines that teach, but how we read them today.