It’s my first day in first grade at Sacred Heart Elementary School. Our class is standing outside under the soft morning sunlight, arranged in a military-style formation. We are little soldiers, proud and stiff, facing a large crucifix. The nun in charge walks up and down our rows, adjusting our positions until we form perfect columns. Her stern face softens with a small smile.

“Pray the Our Father,” she commands.

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In one voice, we begin to pray.

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* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

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The night before my first day, I had a terrifying dream. I was lying on the roof of my house, staring up at the sky. Suddenly, a red beast appeared. It had two horns on its forehead and a long arrowhead tail. Its feet didn’t match—one looked like a bull’s, muscular and strong, but the other was an enormous eagle’s talon. That talon snatched me by the stomach, the sharp claws wrapping tightly around me. It lifted me high into the sky. Below, my house grew smaller and smaller.

I fought to escape, kicking and squirming until I finally broke free. I tumbled downward, watching the roof of my house rush toward me. I landed hard but rolled across the tiles until I reached the edge and leapt off. I sprinted to the back door, ran inside, and slammed it shut behind me, safe from the devil.

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* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

My parents had told me that in Catholic school, I would need to make my First Confession and receive my First Communion. They said it was important and told me, “Don’t worry, you’re a good boy—just tell the Padre your little sins.” But every time they said that, I felt a lump in my throat.

 

I thought of the things my friends and I had done: teasing other kids, cussing, playing “spin the bottle” where we kissed girls, or pushing each other into girls to poke their behinds. I was afraid the priest would say, “The devil is going to get you.”

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* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

A month later, the night before our Confession and Communion, I had the dream again. This time, the red beast held a pitchfork in one of his furry hands. He pointed it at me, laughing so loud it woke me up.

That morning, I didn’t want to go to school. I thought about faking being sick, but I knew it wouldn’t work. My parents had already bought suits, shirts, and ties for my brother and me. I lay in bed wondering if I should tell the Padre everything. One of the nuns had told us that if you hide a sin, it’s like lying to God, and that could send you to hell.

I remembered another time a nun had spoken to me after class while I waited for my dad. She asked if I had questions about the upcoming ceremony. I asked, “If you’re bad, will the Padre forgive you?”

She said, “In confession, the Padre is behind a veil. He can see you, but you can’t see him.” That made me feel better. I decided I would confess everything.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

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When the big day came, I was in shock. We were all in church, ready for the First Confession and Communion Ceremony. But the Padre wasn’t behind a veil. He sat in a large chair at the center of the altar, and a silk pillow was laid in front of him for us to kneel and confess.

I wanted to run away. My throat tightened, but I held my breath, stepped forward, and knelt down. I told him everything—I held nothing back. I expected him to send me straight to hell. Instead, he smiled and said, “God loves you, and your sins are forgiven.”

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* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 

That new week at school, I started returning everything I had “borrowed.” The hardest was a wooden horse I had taken from my best friend, Gill.

He was angry. “You’re my bestest friend, and you stole this from me! My father gave it to me— his own father gave it to him!”

I looked him in the eye. “I was mad at you. You wouldn’t let me play with it, so I took it. But I was going to give it back. I’m sorry. You’re still my bestest friend.”

Gill forgave me. We’re still bestest friends.

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* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 

That night, after my First Confession, my First Communion, and making amends with my friends, I had the most amazing dream.

I was surfing on a wave—but not a wave of water. It was a light wave, soaring through the cosmos. I stood on it, hands raised high, surfing at the speed of light. Behind me, moons and planets drifted away. The Milky Way, then galaxies, all faded behind me as I flew ahead.

I saw colliding galaxies, swerved from the pull of black holes, dodged stars, and passed through clouds of stardust. I surfed with joy, wonder, and freedom. I asked myself: Where am I going? What is my destiny? What lies ahead?

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* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

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When I woke up, I stayed in bed, thinking. What did it all mean?

I told my brother about the dreams: the devil snatching me, and then me surfing the light wave. He shrugged. “You think too much. They’re just dreams. And the First Communion? It’s just something all kids do.”

At breakfast, I told my mom and dad. They were rushing to get us ready for school. My dad promised, “We’ll talk when I get home.”

That afternoon, I waited. When I heard his car, I hid behind the kitchen door to surprise him.

He opened the door, grinned, and yelled, “Hello, my son!”

He picked me up and tossed me toward the ceiling like when I was little. We laughed as he spun me around the kitchen, then dropped me gently onto the sofa.

He told me how, when I was three, I would always wait for him behind the door just like this, hoping he’d spin me around.

“I felt sad when you stopped doing that,” I admitted. “I thought maybe you were mad at me.”

Then I told him about my dreams. “They feel important, like they mean something.”

He thought for a moment then he said; “well dreams can mean something—or just maybe it’s just your vivid imagination running wild. And you are creative. Maybe all the preparation for your First Communion made a deep impression. The church talks a lot about sin, heaven, and hell. That can affect how we dream.”

Then he asked, “How did you feel after the ceremony?”

“Like I was floating,” I said. “Like something lifted off me. And then I returned everything I stole. Is that what you're supposed to feel?”

He smiled. “Not everyone feels the same. But I think you found your answer. Think about what was bothering you before the ceremony. Maybe now you understand why those dreams came.”

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* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 

The next morning, I felt it again—that floating feeling. I remembered what the Padre had told me:

      “God still loves you, son.  You're forgiven.”

Now I understand. The devil was chasing me in my dreams because I was afraid—afraid of my guilt. But after my confession, he couldn't reach me anymore.

Now, I am surfing on a light wave, riding the speed of grace. And I'm not afraid.