George Washington probably didn’t chop down a cherry tree. Three hundred Spartans didn’t face quite so terrible odds as the legend tells. Of course, there was not actually a fox who dismissed some grapes he couldn’t reach as sour.

Did Socrates actually say or do this or that? Are all the stories about Jesus true? Or Buddha or Confucious? No, probably not. But then again, that was never really the point—that’s not why we tell fables or history, especially to children. Jesus himself spoke in parables, you know, not because they were strictly true, but to teach a lesson.

Plutarch, whose epic but accessible biographies have been a staple of this genre—and were part of the education of many future great men and women when they were young—was not exactly a stickler for accuracy. Many of his anecdotes, upon closer inspection, seem impossible or at least, impossible to verify. Still, it was often the case, he said, that these fables took on “the character of exact history” by nature of their essence. It was often the case, he said, that you could learn more about a person or historical event from one apocryphal quote, one little detail, than from pages of historical facts and figures.

The role of a teacher, then and now, is not to cram our kids’ heads with trivia. No, our job is to teach them the lessons they need to know in order to be good people. The purpose of our fables and stories—especially the old ones—is not pedantic accuracy but accurate insights about humanity and life.

Let’s stop getting so hung up on whether this or that really happened. Let’s focus on what it means. Let’s determine if these stories are worth sharing. Because the best stories don’t just tell us what was—they show us what matters.