First among equals

By Gibbs Cadiz
(Originally published in Sorsogon Now, March 1998)

ONE OF THE RECENT times I was home in Sorsogon was for the ordination of a seminary classmate, Fr. Vic Dollentas, now a much-loved junior cura parroco in Bulusan town.

For Fr. Vic, the magisterial rites that removed him forever from the ranks of his more, ahem, worldly peers was the fulfillment of a dream that began in the late summer of 1983 when our batch entered the Our Lady of Penafrancia Minor Seminary. Did he show any signs even then that he’d make it to the priesthood, unlike the rest of us perhaps who would fall by the wayside over the years?

Ask any of his classmates to look back and their answer would be, “Are you kidding?” Sure, Vicboy was quieter than most of us, never raised a voice, had better manners—which meant he was rarely in the forefront of the iskaramusa, that blessed afternoon rite when starving boys would charge toward the bread tray, leaving the hapless tray suspended in the air for a minute before clanging down empty, crumbs raining down in its wake.

He sure was a little gentleman, but who could really say then? This was the same guy, after all, who went with us to cheap movies in flea-infested theaters downtown, while on the furtive lookout for people who might recognize us and report us to the Rector. This was the same guy who crawled with us through grass and dung in the dead of night, with clumps of makahiya and amor seco clinging to our clothing like the dreaded scarlet letter, announcing our perfidy.

Vicboy had a ribald side that blended well with his classmates’ temperaments, all raging hormones themselves. And while he could draw and paint beautifully, we never lost him to high art. You could say he was as baduy as the rest of us. (Grin.)

We were a silly sentimental bunch—the kind who loved milking funerals dry by singing a shamelessly glorious "Hindi Kita Malilimutan" while the wailing kin collapsed one by one in the background. Who once planned to stage a melodramatic revolt against the Rector by marching out of the gates in full view of the community during flag ceremony, not only to dramatize our grievances but also to teach our younger brothers a thing or two about “principle.”

IN OUR COLLEGE years, Fr. Vic was with us during our Sunday CMT exercises at an outside college, roaring hysterically along at the sight of dorky officers conscripted from the ranks of the college riff-raff barking out such cosmos-defying orders as “Bring your bolos tomorrow…right now!”

Of course, years later when he and a couple of others were our batch’s only hope, we alternately begged and threatened them to remain firm and stay the course. All unnecessary really, since Fr. Vic would prove to be a resolute traveler in his 14-year journey to the priesthood. Yes, he made it, too—the first one in his batch. (Three more would follow him: Fr. Dandy of the Society of the Divine Word, now in Rome after having spent time in Taiwan; Fr. Henry Diesta, now the Rector of the Penafrancia College Seminary; and Fr. Glenn Vergara of the Order of the Holy Family based in Cebu.)

One of the proudest moments of our lives as his friends was when Fr. Vic Dollentas, Batch ’87, opened his hands in blessing for the first time to the gathered throng of fellow Sorsoganons—family, friends, neighbors, relatives, peers—that was now his new family. Wild, prolonged applause from the congregation, while we his classmates could only wink at each other in shared affection.

In the heart of such moments, I thought, are our blessed lives anchored—in the celebration of faith and friendship, the ageless bonding of minister and people, the joys of community and belonging.