I tend to fight against being categorized.
Because I feel as though I’m expected to behave a certain way once I’ve been categorized or labeled.
The first time I recognized this was when I entered the mission training center in Provo, Utah. I felt as though I was being asked to check my personality at the door. I was expected to talk and carry myself in a specific manner. I had little control over what I wore even down to the length of my hair.
I felt like a clone and did everything I could to break the profile and exert just a small dose of my own personality even when it meant getting in trouble.
In high school I was known as a jock. When I speak with people from my graduating class they seem shocked that I work in technology and can form coherent sentences on my blog.
The only label I’ve come to value is that of father. There are books on fatherhood, but not one agreed upon standard. I’m not necessarily expected to father my children in the same manner my father raised his. I am given the chance to figure it out on my own.
No step-by-step guide required.