Having nothing better to do with our minds, we had picked up most of the action of the Mass anyway, and Dominic was showing early signs of the vocation for the priesthood that was ultimately be denied to him.
We duly turned up and reported to `Mr Mac` for training as Alter servers.   Mr Mac gave us a long and sober lecture on what a privilege it was to serve on the alter, and explained that no nonsense would be tolerated, we should always arrive early for the service and do exactly what was asked of us. And so began our love affair with the rites of the Mass. 
At some point in his early years Dominic had found a vocation for the Priesthood,  this sent the grownups into an ecstasy, and he rose in their esteem to even dizzier heights than before. (he was intellectually superior to most of them, and I suspect that they knew this). He was very bright and had done well at school.
I had a vocation for showing off,  and was doing badly at school which didn't seem to make anyone ecstatic.
Dominic quickly became very serious about serving on the alter. When we were serving together which was usual, he insisted on absolute perfection in our part in the ritual of the Mass.  Therefore we actually rehearsed the actions of the Mass in private, trying to work and move closely in unison. For several years we faithfully turned up to serve Mass on  Sundays,  Holy days of obligation, Benedictions and Vigils. You name it we were there.   Dominic was with his God.   I was on my very own stage with a regular captive audience. God weren't we good?  We were so good , the priests used to squabble about which one of them was going to get us to serve Mass for them. 
Our genuflection's were of the perfectly balanced and in perfect harmony. Our bows were so low that we often got nose bleeds from banging them on the floor. Our work with the thurifer and the bells was beyond compare and could be heard in heaven.  Our Latin was word perfect and clearly enunciated, and the way we poured the water and the wine left the congregation totally inebriated. People would come from miles around to see us (perform) serve. In the due course of time we were both enrolled in the "Guild of St Stephen". 

We were honoured to wear The lovely Bronze oval medals on their crimson red ropes around our necks, this added to our overall natural beauty.
Like our Father, “The Forte Boys” were good with their public. Later when I was older, there were added compensations. 

In particular, THE `CHOIR`. Dominic and I , were mightily impressed with the singing of one “MARIO LANZA”. and I went to see the film "the Great Caruso" and The Student Prince five or six times each.   After seeing the film we would go to our top bedroom in our house, and Bellow and Screech the songs until we got hoarse and could not go on any longer.   And so began our lifelong rivalry about who has the BEST voice.  When I was young my religion seemed to belong to other, far worthier people than me. No matter how hard I prayed and was good, they all seemed to get the praise for their virtues heaped upon them, whilst I got nothing,  but then,!    (what a rotten little swine I was.)

The Mass to me was good entertainment. It had shape, colour, music, movement, smells, pretty girls in their Sunday best, and old people who said their prayers all funny. long boring sermons and occasionally very funny missionaries who came in search of vocations.  It also had long boring litanies of the saints, which everyone had to say the responses together.
Some mad old people always seemed to be starting or ending their prayers several seconds after everyone else. There seemed to be a competition as to who could come earliest and stay latest mumbling tedious rosaries. What sinners they must have been. During the Rosary the sound of the hissing of the esses from the mouths of so many, the repetitions nauseated me, as did the smell of incense, I always felt light headed, even when I was in charge of making the blessed thing smell myself.
Everyone would be most attentive  when the priest spoke from the pulpit. But I could never understand the sermons.  There we would be, all expectant, as the priest climbed the steps to the pulpit.  A slight pause as he opened his books, shuffled his papers and repeated the first few lines of the gospel he had read shortly before.

Then of course the priest would start to talk Gobbledegook.
I have never been able to figure out why, when he had such an attentive audience, he didn’t tell them in simple terms how the ways of Jesus should be followed in their daily lives. But no!  We would be treated an overlong treatise on obscure theological points, which satisfied his Ego, and left me frustrated at another lost opportunity to sell the product. I wanted to hear stories about Jesus, and how we should all try to be like him in our daily lives. kind, simple, and good. But no!, all we got a philosophical diatribe on the orders of the Bishop. Eventually I determined on my own simplistic version of religion.   I was beggared if I could understand theirs.