The very next week, I went up to Mount Olympus. It was the last thing I wanted to do. But a promise is a promise, and I’d promised to help Hercules. I went straight to the ridiculously oversized palace where Hera lived. I told the door-opening nymphs I wanted to talk to Hera, and they showed me into the sitting room.

Hera took her time, but at last she came into the room, all smiles. “Hades!” she said. “So good to see you.”

“You too, Hera,” I said. “Listen, I’ve got some very nice news for you.”

Hera sat down. “Tell me,” she said. “I could use some good news. I’ve just had this huge fight with Artemis. I found her hunting right outside one of my temples! I mean, if she has to stalk around in the woods half naked with her bow and arrows all the time, which apparently she does, can’t she do it outside one of her own temples?” Hera let out a big sigh. “Anyway, Hades, tell me the good news.”

“Well, remember that big baby?” I said. “The one you and Athena found on the side of the road?”

Hera’s smile quickly vanished. “I’ll get that big baby,” she growled.

“No, listen,” I said quickly. “The baby’s mother worships you, Hera. She is so sorry she offended you. Not that it’s her fault, exactly,” I added. “But she wanted to find a way to make it up to you. And so she has named her baby in your honor.”

“She named her boy Hera?”

“No,” I said. “She named him Hercules. It’s Roman. It means ‘for the glory of Hera.’”

Hera stared at me, unsmiling. She folded her arms across her chest. “Is that your nice news, Hades?”

I nodded. “It’s not every day you get a baby named to glorify you, is it?”

“Oh, go tell it to Zeus,” Hera said. “He’d probably believe you. But not me, Hades. I can see through your clever little scheme.” She stood up. “And I’m still going to get that baby!” She whirled around and marched off in a huff. She left me sitting there wishing I’d let Princess Alcmene name the boy Chickapeckeus.

Now I was really worried about Hercules. Whenever Persephone was away, I dashed up to Thebes to check on him. And since Persephone lives up on earth for nine months of the year, I was up in Thebes quite a bit. Sometimes I put on my Helmet of Darkness and just checked to make sure Hercules was okay. But other times, I left off the helmet and hung out with the little guy. He was cute, even if he did look a lot like Zeus. And when he called me Uncle Hades, I have to say, it warmed my godly heart.

Princess Alcmene was a lovely young mortal, and before long she married again. This time she picked a nice, steady mortal for a husband, Amphitryon. Of course, Princess Alcmene told her new husband that Hercules was Zeus’s son. She told Hercules, too, even though the boy was much too young to understand what having T-BAMZ for a dad really meant.

Amphitryon was fond of his stepson. And he could see that with the right training, such a big strong toddler could become a big strong hero. So when Hercules turned five, Amphitryon decided to give him a hero’s education.

Amphitryon called on experts from all over the world to come and train young Hercules. If he’d asked me, I would have told him just to get the kid a couple of good wrestling partners. But he didn’t ask. So I kept my mouth shut.

One teacher showed Hercules how to race a chariot. One showed him how to shoot a bow and arrow. One taught him boxing. One trained him in long-distance running. Finally one came who taught him to wrestle. I was glad about that! Another teacher taught him how to lead an army into battle. Hercules loved all this physical training. He learned quickly. He was so big and strong that he soon out-raced, out-shot, out-boxed, out-ran, out-wrestled, and out-led-into-battle all his teachers.

Amphitryon wanted young Hercules to have a well-balanced education, so he also hired tutors to teach him how to read, write, count, write poetry, sing, and play charades. Hercules was okay at charades, but he wasn’t exactly a whiz at the sitdown-at-a-desk exercises. He did learn to count up to X. And if he took off his shoes, he could count up to XX. He read Froggius and Toadius all the way to the last page. Eventually he learned to write and even made up a few poems. This one is my favorite:

Zeus is my Dad. I call him my pappy. He has lots of thunderbolts. I hope he won’t zap me. — by Hercules, age 6 ½

But when it came to singing, Hercules was a disaster. And he knew it.

Princess Alcmene and Amphitryon seemed very disappointed that the boy couldn’t learn to sing. So, on a day when I knew Zeus was away on business, I went up to Mount Olympus again. This time I went to see Polyhymnia, the muse of music.

“Hey, Poly,” I said when I found her just outside her muse bungalow. She was standing atop a little hill, practicing her scales.

“Do re mi fa so la ti—Hades!” sang Polyhymnia. “What brings you here to see mi-mi-mi?”

I sat down on a bench nearby. “My nephew, Hercules,” I told her. “He’s Zeus’s son, actually. Not that Zeus gives a fig one way or the other. Hercules is studying singing, but the boy can’t carry a tune in a bucket. Maybe he could learn, though. He’s only seven. You think there’s anything you could do to help him?”

“If anyone can help him, it’s mi-mi-mi-mi-mi!” sang Polyhymnia.

I told her when Hercules’s next singing lesson was, and on the appointed day, Polyhymnia dropped by the palace music room. I was there, too. I didn’t want Hercules to feel too much pressure, so I wore my helmet.

“All right, my boy,” said his music teacher, Linus. “Start warming up your voice.”

Hercules opened his mouth and sang, “Augggghhhhhh!”

That was all it took to send Polyhymnia running from the room with her hands over her ears. I caught up with her just before she ran out the gates of Thebes. I persuaded her to come and sit with me at a little café and calm down.

“Do-do-do-do-don’t ever let him sing again!” she sang as the waiter brought our cappuccinos. “He sounds just like his fa-fa-fa-fa-father.”

“Zeus is tone deaf?” I asked. Who knew? “So there’s nothing you can do?”

“Fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fahgeddaboutit!” sang Polyhymnia.

But Linus refused to give up on his pupil. Twice a week he came to the palace to give Hercules his singing lessons. I happened to be there for the very last one.

“Do re me fa so la ti do!” sang Linus as he plucked the strings of his lyre. “Now you try it, Hercules.”

“It’s time for my archery lesson,” said Hercules.

“First, the scales,” said Linus.

“Oh, dang,” said Hercules.

“Sing NOW!” ordered Linus.

Hercules drew a deep breath and sang: “Do re me fa fee foe foo!”

“No!” Linus cried. He drew back his hand and slapped Hercules right across the face.

BIG boo-boo!

No one had ever hit Hercules before. His eyes flashed with anger. His chubby face turned bright red. He grabbed Linus’s lyre and heaved it at his teacher, knocking him flat.

“Oops!” said Hercules, when he realized what he’d done. He quickly picked up his teacher—even at age seven, he was that strong—and carried him through the palace to his old nursemaid.

The nursemaid looked at the big bump rising around Linus’s left eye.

“He’ll live,” she said. “But he’s going to have quite a shiner.”

Finally Linus came to. “Ooooh,” he moaned. “Uh, sorry about slapping you, Hercules.”

“Sorry about bonking you with the lyre,” said Hercules. “It was an accident—sort of.”

The two forgave each other.

But Linus was never quite the same after that. He took to wearing a dead fish over his left eye. He said its scales reminded him never to make Hercules sing his scales if he didn’t want to.