Demigods and Monsters (13 page)

T
he lives of half-bloods in Greek mythology usually end in blood and guts and fire—we're talking vengeful gods, three-headed dogs, monsters, ancient curses. It's all very dangerous and life threaten-y. If you were the child of a really powerful god like Percy is, you'd have to stay at Camp Half-Blood all year long, for fear of attracting monsters in the real world. You could never really go back home. Your life would be forever changed. If not over. If you're lucky.

And yet . . . the thought of having that powerful blood surging through you, of having access to a whole other kind of magical world, one that defies reason and gravity, even—it might just be worth it. I know I for one would just love a taste of ambrosia and nectar. I'd jump at the chance to learn Ancient Greek, practice archery, take swordfighting lessons, play Capture the Flag with real armor. But before I could sign up for all of that at Camp Half-Blood, I'd have to actually be a half-blood. I'd have to have a parent who was a god.

The thing is, you can't pick your parents. Not in this life and not in Percy's. But if you
could
choose, who would you pick? Clearly, there are pros and cons to having each god for a parent. Nobody's perfect, especially not in Greek mythology. So you must choose carefully. You have to really do your homework in order to make an informed decision. So let's get to it—we won't only look at Percy Jackson's world, we'll look at the Ancient Greek myths for reference too. We want a complete background history. After all, this just isn't the kind of decision you rush into haphazardly. You've got to have all the facts.

We'll start at the top, with Zeus, ruler of Olympus, lord of the friendly skies. Powerful, impulsive, and passionate, Zeus rules with his master bolt. To be a child of Zeus is to be a child of the sky, which basically means I could fly, if he willed it so. Everyone knows that flying is pretty much the coolest kind of power any person could have. Ever. Not much can top flying as far as powers go. And I would be a princess, because Zeus is the king; he rules over Mount Olympus. What girl wouldn't want to be a princess? There's a certain kind of caché associated with being a daughter of Zeus—you're at the top of the food chain, you might say. You're so popular, you're prom queen, quarterback, and valedictorian all rolled into one. I
probably wouldn't have to worry about who I'd sit with in the cafeteria, if you know what I mean.

But being at the top of the food chain comes with a price—with great power comes great responsibility, right? As Zeus' child, all the eyes of Olympus would be on you. They would be expecting nothing short of greatness from the kid of the thunder god. That's a lot to live up to.

And then, there is the matter of his jealous wife Hera—something tells me she wouldn't exactly be a nurturing stepmom. She might turn me into a cow or something, just to spite Zeus for cheating on her again. When Zeus fathered the hero Hercules with a mortal woman, Hera put snakes in the baby's crib! She did everything in her power to make life hard for Hercules. And this was even after Zeus named the kid after her to appease her (the Greek version of the name is actually spelled
Hera
cles)! So while I would love to be a flying princess, the thought of hoofing around in a field chewing cud or being strangled to death by snakes isn't so appealing. Hera just isn't the kind of goddess you can win over so easy. If ever.

Next we have Hades, god of the Underworld. As such, Hades controls all the earth's precious metals. I would be decked out like Princess Grace of Monaco, and I would in fact be a princess, Princess of the Underworld. Princess of the Dead. But not princess-y in a prissy way. No, I would be a total badass, with a long black leather coat and a diamond scepter that doubles as a weapon. Yeah, a weapon!

If Hades were my dad, I wouldn't be afraid of death. Death would be like my British manservant, my very own butler. I would say, “Serve me,” and Death would. I could even bring back my loved ones from the dead—not without a heavy price, but still. That's quite the perk.

I might even learn to like living in the dark, without sunlight or flowers.

No monster would ever mess with me—in fact, they'd have to protect me, follow my orders, be my minions. Cerberus would be my pet: I could train him to attack bad guys. (Though my dad would kind of be a bad guy.)

Not all bad though—after all, there is honor in death, and Hades does have some sense of honor. Interestingly enough, he is the only one of the Big Three who doesn't break the sacred pact and father a mortal hero in the Percy Jackson series. And when Percy returns Hades' helm of darkness, Hades returns Percy's kidnapped mother. He didn't have to do that. The guy has a sense of fair play, even if it is kind of twisted—after all, he did kidnap his wife to get her to marry him.

What Hades doesn't have is a cabin at Camp Half-Blood, not even an honorary one like Hera or Artemis. Most likely, I wouldn't be allowed to live at Camp Half-Blood with all my half-brothers and sisters and cousins. I'd have to stick with my dad Hades in the Underworld and sit on my own throne made out of kitten bones or something equally ghoulish. Hell would be my playground. But who wants to play in hell? Not me. I'd rather stay clear of it altogether; diamonds aren't worth living in a mine.

Plus, what if I inherited my father's looks the way Nico di Angelo did? Percy describes Nico's eyes as having that “intense, manic fire that made you suspect he was either a genius or a madman.” Somehow, I don't think crazy eyes would look good on me.

And finally, there's Poseidon, Percy's dad. Chiron calls him “Earthshaker, Stormbringer, Father of Horses” in
The Lightning Thief
. He is all of those things and more—he is the god of sea. I do love the ocean. I'm sure that if I wanted, I could be part mermaid and spend half the year in the water with my merman boyfriend, freeing dolphins from tuna nets and riding on the backs of humpback whales. Oh, to have my own seahorse! And when I was on land, I would still be one with water. When I got hurt, all I'd have to do was hop into the shower and I'd be all healed up. I could make fountains and
waterfalls wherever I went, and I bet I'd be a really good surfer. I wouldn't even need a board. Maybe I'd be an Olympic swimmer, or a captain of my own ship, or a horsewoman—since Poseidon is the lord and creator of horses, I figure they'll listen to me too. With the sea god as my dad, the world would be my oyster!

But Poseidon isn't perfect either. He doesn't have the strongest relationship with his family—he once defiled Athena's temple by bringing a girl there for a little afternoon delight, and he is too proud to convince Zeus he didn't steal his master bolt, thus resulting in Percy's dangerous quest. And though Poseidon does love Percy, he's also not above using him for his own purposes.

He's a prideful god, that Poseidon. Just imagine what it would be like to have a dad who never says sorry, always thinks he's in the right—not too much of a stretch for most people, which is kind of the point. Having a god for a dad is supposed to be fun fantasy, it isn't supposed to be just like real life.

All in all, I wonder—would it be so great to have a godly dad as opposed to a godly mom?

At the top of the goddess food chain is Hera, queen of Olympus, wife of Zeus. She's probably the most powerful goddess in all of Olympus. And every century, Hera is allowed to grant one wish. Surely she would grant that wish to her own daughter. Wishes aside, it would be an incredible honor to inherit some of that power. The thing is, I wouldn't want to inherit her jealous tendencies or her vengeful nature.

Hera is the goddess of marriage, so it's extremely unlikely that she would stray—and even if she did, she seems kind of boring to me as far as godly parents go. Hera doesn't have many of her own interests. She's too busy running around turning Zeus' girlfriends into cows and weasels to be a good mom.

And while we're at it, let's take a look at her mothering track record. When her son Hephaestus was born, she thought he was so ugly that she pitched him right off of Mount Olympus. Nice. And her other son Ares, god of war, is pretty much a creep. It's kind of ironic that the goddess of marriage and childbirth isn't such a great wife or mom.

Then we have Artemis, goddess of the hunt and the moon, and all-around warrior woman. To be a daughter of Artemis is obviously impossible. She has sworn to be a maiden forever—in other words, no kids and no family, just her pack of loyal huntresses. If she
were
my mother, well, it would have to mean that I was the product of an immaculate conception. Just call me baby Jesus, version 2.0—not outside the realm of possibility in the world of Greek mythology. I'd be really good at archery and hunting—although I have to say, I'm not into the whole killing animals thing. I don't wear fur, unlike Artemis, who runs around wearing animal skins—head, hooves, and all.

Artemis would at least be a loyal mom, she's a woman of her word. It is Artemis who defends Percy, Annabeth, and Thalia at the Olympian council when her fellow gods want them punished in
The Titan's Curse
. She says, “If we destroy heroes who do us a great favor, then we are no better than the Titans.” What a classy lady!

She doesn't discriminate against mortal or immortal. All are welcome (though it's true she isn't too crazy about boys joining her band of Hunters), so long as you choose her path: to never grow up and be young forever, just like Peter Pan. That sounds nice but also awfully permanent. I don't know that I'd want to be a girl forever. I wouldn't want to be disowned just for choosing true love and a grown-up life. I would want to follow my own path, not my mother's.

I highly doubt Artemis would be in favor of frivolous things like the prom, or nail polish, or boys. If I got dumped, I can just imagine her reaction: She'd tell me that men are scum anyway and she'd turn
the guy into a boar (because all men are pigs, get it?). While there have been times in my life when I've been mad enough to wish I could turn a guy into
worse
than a wild pig, having a mother who could do it—and actually would—is a bit much. I don't need that on my conscience. Sometimes all a girl really needs from her mother is a shoulder to cry on.

Then we have Demeter; not a very powerful goddess but a semi-important one nonetheless. Demeter is the goddess of nature and the outdoors, and I have to say right off the bat, I'm not a camping kind of girl. I do like flowers though. As Demeter's daughter, I could grow wheat and flowers and all sorts of pretty things.

Only thing is, Demeter's other daughter Persephone ended up kidnapped and living in the Underworld, and that's not where I'd want to be. Even if I didn't end up Hades' second wife, Demeter would probably be suffocating and over-protective because big sis Persephone is gone half the year in hell. I would probably be sitting around in my room tending to my plants and wishing I was allowed to go out at night like all my friends. And I could forget about dating—after what happened with Persephone, I'm sure Demeter would veto any kind of boy action. What fun is it being a half-blood if I'm not even allowed to be out and about using my powers? And speaking of powers, growing flowers isn't the flashiest of magical abilities. If I wanted to be a gardener, I'd be a gardener.

With Aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty, the perks are pretty obvious. If I were her daughter, I bet I would be so unspeakably beautiful boys would forget their own names. They would forget place and time all because of my pretty—no, dazzling—face. That's tempting. But then again, I wouldn't want to be so wrapped up in my looks I didn't care about anything else—Percy describes Aphrodite's children as just sitting around admiring themselves and gossiping all day long. Physical perfection can be boring too.

And what if I didn't turn out gorgeous like her? That can happen, you know. I might not inherit her beauty genes. I might turn
out ugly, or worse—mediocre. That would be devastating. If Aphrodite were my mother, I bet she'd be one of those pageant moms who pressures her daughter to be physical perfection—tan skin and white teeth and bouncy blonde hair. If I didn't live up to her expectations of what beauty looks like, she might not want to claim me as hers. She might even throw me off of Mount Olympus just like Hera did to Hephaestus.

But apart from the vanity factor, I don't know that I'd want a mother who claims to hold love above all else, but then turns right around and treats her own husband so shabbily. She is cruel to Hephaestus, and she flouts her relationship with Ares in his poor homely face. Speaking of Ares, what does she see in him anyway? Even if she is the goddess of love, she doesn't seem terribly wise about it. We're talking about a woman who started the Trojan War over a golden apple. She seems a lot like those moms who stay with deadbeat dads, hanging around in a dead-end relationship. Wake up and smell the ambrosia, Aphrodite—your man Ares is a creep. Watching her hang out with that guy would get really frustrating, I'm sure. She's a goddess, millions of years old; she should have outgrown that whole bad-boy complex by now.

When it comes to wisdom, there's no one wiser than the goddess Athena. As her daughter, I too would be so wise. Also, I'd have cool gray eyes just like my mom. I would always have a plan, always know just what to do. I would certainly be good in a crisis, just like Annabeth. If I chose to live in the mortal world, I could be the Secretary of State, or Scrabble World Champion.

I can tell that Athena is a good mom, the way she looks out for Annabeth's best interests. Right off the bat she says that Percy is bad news and could mean danger for her daughter, and even though that kind of thing is hard to hear, she's just trying to be a good mom. But it could also get annoying having a mom who knows everything, sees everything. A girl should be allowed to have a secret or two.