More than one way to the square 

　　We were standing at the top of a church tower. My father had brought me to this spot in a

　　small town not far from our home in Rome. I wondered why.

　　"Look down, Elsa," Father said. I gathered all my courage and looked down. I saw the

　　square in the center of the village. And I saw the crisscross (十字形) of twisting, turning streets

　　leading to the square. "See, my dear," Father said gently. "There is more than one way to the

　　square. Life is like that. If you can't get to the place where you want to go by one road, try another."

　　Now I understood why I was there. Earlier that day I had begged my mother to do something about the awful lunches that were served at school. But she refused because she

　　could not believe the lunches were as bad as I said.