The day which the parish priest had appointed for the solemn First Communion of the children of the parish, was drawing near. In view of the fact that I knew my catechism and was already six years old, my mother thought that perhaps I could now make my First Communion. To this end, she sent me with my sister Carolina to the catechism instructions which the parish priest was giving to the children, in preparation for this great day. I went therefore radiant with joy, hoping soon to be able to receive my God for the first time. The priest gave his instructions, seated in a chair on a platform. He called me to his side, and when one or other of the children was unable to answer his question, he told me to give the answer instead just to shame them.
The eve of the great day arrived, and the priest sent word that all the children were to go to the church in the forenoon, so that he could make the final decision as to which ones were to receive their First Communion. What was not my disappointment when he called me up beside him, caressed me and said I was to wait till I was seven years old! I began to cry at once, and just as I would have done with my own mother, I laid my head on his knees and sobbed. It happened that another priest, who had been called in to help with the Confessions, entered the Church just at that moment.
Seeing me in this position, he asked the reason for my tears. On being informed, he took me along to the sacristy and examined me on the catechism and the mystery of the Eucharist. After this he took me by the hand and brought me to the parish priest, saying: “Father Pena, you can let this child go to Communion. She understands what she is doing better than many of the others.”
“But she is only six years old!” objected the good priest.
“Never mind! I’ll take responsibility for that.”
“Alright then”; the good priest said to me: Go and tell your mother that you are making your First Communion tomorrow.”
I could never express the joy I felt. Off I went, clapping my hands with delight, and running all the way home to give the good news to my mother. She at once set about preparing me for the Confession I was to make that afternoon. My mother took me to the church, and when we arrived, I told her I wanted to confess to the other priest. So we went to the sacristy, where he was sitting on a chair, hearing confessions. My mother knelt down in front of the high altar near the sacristy door, together with the other mothers who were waiting for their children to confess in turn. Right there before the Blessed Sacrament, my mother gave me her last recommendations.