Thousands of years ago, in the tales of Greek mythology, there was story of a titan named Prometheus who was known as a clever trickster in the land of the gods. He famously stole fire from the gods to gift the human race, and later was rescued by Hercules after being imprisoned by Zeus himself. 

My dad thought the many stories of Prometheus and other Greek gods were interesting—giving him the deranged idea that it would be cool to name his son after them.

It has never been my true name, but the longer version of who I actually am: Theo.

Prometheus is an unnatural-sounding name. the two consecutive long E’s followed by a U are too many extended vowels, making it stand out from any standard names in American culture. The four syllables also makes it lengthy, with the composition having the ability to form numerous nicknames.

When people hear it, they recognize the name and think of a Greek god. A tall, bearded titan with washboard abs. but some mythological deity from a story three millennia ago has nothing to do with me.

I am embarrassed of my name because it stands out. In my mind, “unique” means different from normal, which means weird. This isn’t because I am self-conscious about it, but simply because I have no desire for my name to be extremely special or the topic of a conversation, which it regularly is.

So no, the name Prometheus does not belong to me. The uniqueness that make my name stand out next to others’ does not belong to me. What belongs to me is just another person, not an ancient legend. What belongs to me is four letters, not ten. Theo.