Deconstruction - the Father of all Learning

Some say that "Repetition is the mother of all learning."  Well at least the dean at my conservative Christian college used to say it.  I didn't like hearing it said, because I am not a repeater.  I don't like repetition.  It's boring and uncomfortable.  I remember trying to beat a Native American group drum with a group of men and realized that I couldn't keep time with them and to do so was killing me.  Over time, I'm sure I could get used to it, but regardless, I'm not a repeater and so I didn't get on with the mother of all learning.

On the other hand, I resonated immensely with the father of all learning.  Some would call him chaos or disorder, but I warmly call him "Deconstruction."  I am so comfortable in his presence.  We get on just fine and I love prating around in his nurturing environment.  I get the sense that not many others do though, but maybe not.  It seems that he isn't a favorite for some but for others, he spoils them rotten.  I know that he's the grandfather who sneaks candy to his grand-kids when grandmother is not watching - always upsetting the status quo for a little fun.

So if "repetition is the mother" and "deconstruction is the father" who is reconstruction?  Reconstruction is me, it is my identity.  It is the time and place in my life when I take all that my mother and father have given me and I make something of it.  In my response I take each repetition seriously but repetition by itself is mind numbing - for me at least.  You see, each repetition must come to an end but not necessarily an end.  It must come to a hill, a hard hill to climb and that's where deconstruction takes over.  One of the aspects of deconstruction is that it likes a challenge, a hill to climb, an unexpected situation that causes it to respond 'in the moment.'   It does not like the plains, the plateaus or the prairies - they are numbing.  But repetition or as she is otherwise known - "construction" - she loves the prairies - the flatland of predictability, the status quo highway - "practice makes perfect" she likes to quip and she quips it often, almost predictably.

The great thing is that mother construction and father deconstruction love each other.  They are distinct and have very unique features that make them so different from each other, but there's a cuteness about them.  Without them being together, I guess I would feel a deep sense of loss.  Divorce is out of the question though it has happened to some of other "reconstructing friends."  Either they get stuck with mother repetition and can't be found anywhere else except for where they will always be or they get lost with father deconstruction and just can't be found at all.

I have noticed that I really needed my mother, a lot.  I have to say that when I'm done reconstructing, I'll lean more easily on my father's side of the family but without my mother, I would be lost, lost deconstructing and never getting to that point in my adult life of reconstruction - or it may just take a much longer time.  I really enjoy hanging out with my dad, but honestly, left to himself, he's a mess.  I don't want to end up like him unless I can have a wife like my mom.  I'm so glad that they are there for each other when each of them gets stuck or lost in their own little worlds.

Each time there is difficulty or a mountain, my mom climbs on my dad's back and they begin their nascent ascent.  They always arrive at some new place, that generally speaking - only my dad has the courage to discover and bring my mom towards.  But upon arrival, it is she who knows what to do.  She begins her rhythmic process of bringing them both across the prairie - guiding him back onto the flat path that will lead them to the next mountain where once again they will ascend.

It hasn't always been like this.  Dad was always stamping about, to and fro, looking for more mountains to climb, problems to solve and chaos to swim in, not entrusting himself to her swooning glide across the prairie floor - so rhythmic, so smooth, so guided.   Mom would haggle and complain at the base of the mountain, repeating her complaints over and over, refusing to get on his back and just let him climb - wanting to circle again and again so as to avoid the fearful climb.  Funny thing is, she'd rather continue going around in circles at the base of the mountain than going up the mountain. She wanted the comfort of her plateau, to go straight once more again and not to have to climb the difficult slopes.   He wanted to climb, to know something new and novel and never seen before.  After short spurts across the plain, he would eventually ease into a depressive gait drawing his strength from her loyal love.  Over time, they learned, they learned that there will always be mountains to climb and plateaus to traverse.  They learned to trust each other when at the mouth of the trail, she might get lost, or in the wide open, he might get tossed.

When all's been walked and climbed, what caused them to retreat from the battle of "I'm better than you," was my birth.  I began to walk with them, climb with.  They found that if they were right and the other oh so wrong, that my very life would suffer years beyond their ego's death. They found that my reconstruction required them both - dancing and whirling, rhythmically free around each other.  This not for their hope or future or joy, but for mine - they gave up the fight for me and now I must honor them with this plea - Whether meant for the straight plateau of your mother, or the upward bounding of your father, until you know what you are, honor each by being the reconstruction of you. 

-Nathan Smith