Being an Altar Boy at Immaculate Conception Parish

I was baptized at Immaculate Conception Parish, just a few hundred meters from home—a church that became the backdrop of my childhood. I heard Mass there 95% of the time, and like most kids in the community, I grew up looking up to our parish priest, Fr Henry Ceniza, as a steady spiritual figure. But he never stood alone on that sanctuary. Beside him were boys in white cassocks—calm, composed, assisting him with the chalice, the water and wine, and the heavy Roman Missal.

As a sixth grader, that sight was magnetic. The altar boys looked dignified, important, and—let’s be honest—popular with the girls. But the idea of standing in front of hundreds of parishioners terrified me. Even walking up the stage for my mother to pin a ribbon felt like a monumental ordeal. Dancing? Performing? That was a disaster waiting to happen.

Still, the desire to serve tugged at me. And I wasn’t alone. My classmates Rodel and Jergen shared the same curiosity. One Wednesday after Mass, we approached an altar boy and told him we wanted to join. He explained that recruitment happened at the start of the school year—right when we would be entering Holy Cross of Mintal as freshmen.

At the time, I was still weighing where to study. I had earned a full scholarship at UM Guianga Junior College for topping the entrance exam, but it meant commuting daily. Then came another scholarship—this time from the Relief Association of Southeast Asia—to study at Holy Cross of Mintal. That settled it. My path was set.

Summer came, and while attending Legion of Mary sessions with my sister and cousin, I found myself observing the sanctuary more closely—the altar boy seats, the flow of the Mass, even the mysterious stone book on the altar. The desire to serve quietly grew.

By June, however, the excitement of high school life swept over us. New uniforms. New classmates from all corners of the district. Singing To Christ Through Mary every morning. But the call to serve never faded. When the school encouraged everyone to join clubs, Sr Violeta Tancio. invited boys interested in serving at Mass. Nearly half of St Agnes class signed up. Our meetings were led by Kuya Lagang, the club president. Eventually, the joyriders drifted away, leaving behind those who truly wanted to serve.

One of the most memorable parts of being an altar boy was joining the parish pilgrimage to different barangays, carrying the statue of the Holy Infant of Prague for veneration. We visited villages I had never seen before, got chased by dogs, and once were even accused of stealing from a donation box. My first assignment took me to Mintal Relocation (now Barangay Sto. Niño), Bago Oshiro, and Catalunan Grande.

It was all voluntary, but almost everyone joined. For me, it was the thrill of riding a jeepney to unfamiliar places without fear of getting lost. When the three‑day pilgrimage ended on Holy Innocents Day, we gathered at the convent for ice cream with the parish priest and seminarians. Our dreams were simple then.

Another highlight was the annual Davao City diocesan convention at St Francis Xavier Seminary in Catalunan Grande. It was less a gathering and more a friendly competition among altar boys from different parishes. We attended Mass, watched a concert by seminarians, performed our own presentations, and joined parlor games. And of course, we received a printed shirt—our uniform for special functions throughout the year.

Looking back, those years shaped more than my Sundays. They formed my confidence, my friendships, and my early sense of service—long before I understood what vocation truly meant.