Why I’m glad my parents didn’t eventually name me Hercules

Early in 2020, when the pandemic broke out, I was asked to give a webinar on online teaching to the academic staff of our university. Having studied educational science, I jumped at the task, feeling competent enough to give a couple of solid tips on the topic. So there I was, a young chap with ink on his master’s diploma barely dry, lecturing to a group of tenured professors when one of them asked the question.

“Nikos! Nikos. Hold your horses. You are giving us tips on how to teach, but are you even a teacher?”

To which I said, “Ohh, but, but, but,…!” An instant later, a knowing smirk broke in unison across all those 49 bespectacled faces covering my monitor. Putting on the most dignified look I managed to pull off, I rushed to finish the session, and vowed to myself to never fail to justify my expertise again.

So I came up with a story I now tell professors who question my role as a teacher trainer. It goes like this:

“Nikos, are you even a teacher?”

“Look, I hear you. No, I’m not. However, great trainers aren’t necessarily peak performers in the discipline they train others in. Remember Phil?"

 “Phil the Satyr was a trainer of heroes. Never a hero himself, yet he made Hercules and a bunch of other Greek guys champions. You are Hercules and I am Phil, see?”

I don’t mean to brag, but the story works absolute magic. Now imagine my parents had named me Hercules! Don’t get me wrong, I like the sound of it, but it would have totally messed up the metaphor.