I remember my first day of CCD at Goffstown when I was eight years old. I was crying for my mother to not leave. My friend was doing the same with her mom. When I looked around the giant building, I had an uncomfortable twinge in my stomach. The halls were filled with children I didn’t know.

After I looked down the list of names of kids who were in my class and my friend was not there, we both had another crying fit. After we refused to go to class unless they moved us together, we were finally put into the same class. Once we were in class, I felt just as lost.

The teacher talked about topics I couldn’t comprehend, so I spent the class waiting until 8 o’clock when my mom would pick me up.

This routine continued every Monday night for two years. While the crying subsided, I still dreaded going to CCD every Monday.

Although I had my communion in third grade, I was unwilling to go through what seemed like an eternity of CCD. For an entire year, I pleaded for my mom to let me quit; she was the only reason why I was in CCD. My dad would just egg me on, telling her he didn’t like me going.

In fifth grade, I finally did quit.

My dad is an Atheist and has been all my life. His experiences with religion have all been negative since it was forced upon him in his childhood. Whenever religion is even mentioned, he rolls his eyes and jokes.

When I first committed to Saint Anselm College, the Catholic Benedictine part was almost an afterthought. When I was given a tour of the church, I felt guilty that the only thought I had was how beautiful the church was.

Although it is beautiful, I always felt Catholics had some personal discussion with God. Yet there I was, practically a stranger to the Church. At the time, the only reason I walked into a church was for a funeral. I never before had to think critically about religion, yet I would eventually have to.

It is required that all first-year students take Conversatio, which encourages students to learn of their own faithfulness while learning about the values rooted in the Catholic Benedictine community. Our first semester, we studied multiple spiritual readings like "The Bhagavad Gita" (Buddhism) and "The Gospel of Luke" (Catholicism).

I had to analyze both texts for hours on end in order to comprehend what I was reading as if the Atheism my dad brought me up with was at war with a foreign invader.

After seeing the student Bible I bought for the class, my dad gave me the ultimate eye glaze. He interrogated me like a suspect in court, asking why I bought it, was I being pressured into religion and whether or not I went to church.

After going to both Sunday and Wednesday night masses, I felt like the same little kid at CCD. Except this time, I didn’t know what to say in prayer, I didn’t know how to cross myself in the Trinity and I didn’t know the hymns.

On the other hand, my friends were already committed members of the Church. They sing at the Wednesday and Sunday night masses, they’ve applied to become peer ministers and they actually know the hymns by heart.

Then, there’s me.

At funerals, I would get reprimanded by priests when receiving the body of Christ because I didn’t know what to do. Despite going to CCD and saying how much I hated it as a kid, everything about church seemed so foreign. It was as if I had amnesia.

I felt like it was my fault I was an outsider in the Catholic community and felt others could sense it.

At the Saint Anselm Abbey, that fear goes away. All of the priests are welcoming and so intelligent. At one mass, I forgot the Trinity while receiving the body of Christ. My heart plunged as I stood awestruck in front of Father Stephen.

Instead of reprimanding me, he took me aside after mass and politely taught me. This just made me motivated to learn more. Every Wednesday at 8:00 p.m., I go to confirmation class with some of my friends.

My eight-year-old self would have never thought this could happen or that I would be excited to go each week.

Most days after my class, I go to the Wednesday night mass with my friends, and we hang out in campus ministry until Father Stephen jokingly kicks us out. When I told my mom I started confirmation class, she told me my papa would be proud.

Even though he can’t experience this with me, I want to learn for him.

My papa passed away one year ago. He was the light of my life and the kindest, most generous person I knew. He also loved church and went every week before he was sick. He volunteered at St. Matthew’s in Windham, NH and donated money whenever possible.

I felt as if my church ignorance let him down, even though that was probably not the way he felt. I wrote and spoke the eulogy at his funeral, yet felt guilty when I couldn’t do the Trinity correctly.

I was just motionless until I stepped up to the podium.

In a way, being at the Abbey makes me feel closer to him as if maybe he can see me living on his legacy. While I took church for granted as a kid, I am certainly not going to take it for granted now.