I’ve recently started casual teaching at a primary school and have had to consider what students call me. Coming from a Greek-Australian background, I’ve had an ongoing internal debate. Should I be proud of my Greek heritage and command respect by getting the students to call me Mr Stamocostas? Or should I just be chill and allow them to call me Mr S?
My full name is Constantine Stamocostas. For the past few months, students, staff and teachers have been calling me Mr S. Back when I was a student, I was called Con instead of Constantine, and now it seems I’ve just been consigned to an “s”.
My grandfather, the first Constantine Stamocostas, would be rolling in his grave if he knew his name would be shortened to a single letter of the alphabet. He didn’t work all his life for his name to be shrunk to a phoneme.
Growing up, I felt a lot of shame about my name. The only place it existed was when Greek adults yelled, “Costaaaaaa!” and everyone else mispronounced it or made fun of it. I never heard Constantine or Con or Costa mentioned on Romper Room or Play School. There was no Con bumper sticker at the newsagent and no Cons on Neighbours or Home and Away. There was a Con in Heartbreak High (the original), but he was played by an Italian-Australian actor – not only did Anglo-Australia get my name wrong, they didn’t even get the nationality right.
Another reason I hated my name was that when it was uttered, it instantly revealed my Greek identity. My mysterious grunge rock persona was blown each time I said my name. As a child of immigrants, I was desperate to feel part of Australian culture, but having a name such as Con – the Greekest Greek name there ever was – excluded me.
The author’s grandfather, Constantine Stamocostas. Source: Supplied
There were also the jokes. What do you call a Greek falling out of a plane?
Con-descending.
What do you call a Greek astronomer?
Con-stellation.
What do you call a Greek who needs to go to the toilet? Well, you don’t need me to tell you that.
When I got to high school, Constantine Stamocostas gave way to an Aussiefied nickname, “Stama”.
For a long time, I felt like my name didn’t belong to me and it was up to the will of the people to decide what I should be called.
There have been some instances when I felt kinship to my name, such as when Full House actor John Stamos came on the scene. Even though he shortened his name, I thought that if John Stamos could be a successful actor, then maybe Con Stamocostas could find a way, too.
Those were the years when I wished my family had shortened their name. Lots of Greeks who migrated to Australia did this so they could get jobs and avoid the racism that came with a four-syllable last name. Michalopoulos became Mich. Rigopoulos became Rigas. Zafiropoulos became Zafis. But Stamocostas stayed as is.
Over the years, Stamocostas has been confused with Stamapoulos, Stamafatsis and Stamalotsos (not to be confused with Lotso the bear in Toy Story 3).
Working in schools over the past three years, I have come across third-generation Greek-Australians and noticed that lots of them have proper Greek names
I have had had so much grief stemming from my name that the biggest gift I have given my daughter is her easy non-wog-sounding name. Officially, her name is Sia; unofficially, her name is Athanasia. The longer version means “immortal” and comes with an official name-day as well. It’s a three-in-one name that placates the Greek relatives. No jokes, no worries.
Recently, I came across a children’s book called , written by Sandhya Parappukkaran. The boy in the book is called Zimdalamashkermishkada. At first, the boy hates his name. Eventually, he finds the confidence to step boldly into it.
Part of me feels I should take pride in my name and ask my students and colleagues to attempt to say it. These days, even though I still get jokes such as, “What’s it like to have the alphabet in your name?”, they do not sting.
Initially, Mr S felt like a term of endearment. However, when I discussed my name with my fellow teachers, the feedback from one colleague (who also has an ethnic last name) was that I should have faith that my students can remember and pronounce my full last name. “If these kids can remember Harry Potter and The Lord of the Rings characters’ names, they can remember your name,” she said.
Is Dumbledore as easy to remember as Stamocostas? Is Gellert Grindelwald harder to say than Constantine Stamocostas? What about Legolas from The Lord of the Rings? That sounds like a Greek name.
Working in schools over the past three years, I have come across third-generation Greek-Australians and noticed that lots of them have proper Greek names. Full-blown Greek first names such as Panayiotis, Alexios, Dimitri and even Costas. The pendulum is starting to swing and names are getting longer and not being shortened. Third-generation Greek-Australians don’t have the wog shame or name stigma that my generation did. They are proud of their heritage and their wog-sounding names. Maybe kids aren’t as racist as they were when I was growing up. That can only be a good thing.
Being a teacher in the inner west of Sydney and hearing a variety of last names makes me feel as if I am part of the community. When students have a go at saying my full last name, they honour my grandfather and my family. And if they call me Mr S? I feel like I’m a father in Happy Days. It’s win-win, I guess.
