Learning the Hard Way: Noah Style

Learning.

It’s something everyone does differently. One-size shoes—and learning styles—do not fit all.

Ilyia can happily dork-out over a book on herpetology and then spend the next fifteen minutes regurgitating reptilian facts, not realizing that I practice my finest selective hearing for the entire duration. Miriam, on the other hand, is a workhorse. She plows straight through information, absorbs essence of the topic, and emerges from her study-induced coma with a solid, well-formed understanding of the topic at hand.

Some people learn by watching. Some by listening. Others by doing.

And then there’s Noah.

Noah most definitely learns by experience.

Sometimes.

Most of the time, the moral of a learning event slides right past him without even a courtesy wave.

And now for my short story:

I’m not exactly sure where I learned that sticking your finger into a set mousetrap is a terrible life choice. Maybe Tom and Jerry taught me. Maybe I learned by watching mice flip through the air in tiny, painful arcs of regret after they fatefully tried Mom’s cooking. However it happened, I’m pretty sure I learned without personal injury.

Noah, as it turns out, did not.

Due to dropping temperatures, a family of mice decided our garage would make an excellent winter resort. Since I am not a fan of turning my home into communal housing, I set out to evict them permanently. Two chubby freeloaders departed for mouse heaven on day one.

Enter Noah.

Spotting what looked suspiciously like an M&M crunched into the baited area, he decided chocolate was calling his name. I was in the kitchen when I heard it—the unmistakable shriek of shock and pain echoing from the garage.

I yanked open the door, heart racing. Noah is not a screamer. Oh, he can fake cry with Oscar-worthy commitment, but express genuine pain? Rare.

He bolted toward me, tears streaming down his cheeks, sobbing, “Hurt-hurt-hurt!”

Once I confirmed there was no serious damage, I remained completely composed and paternal. Laughter at his misfortune did not bubble up inside me. Not even a snort.

However… it is possible that later that evening an un-set mousetrap mysteriously appeared on top of a box of Goldfish crackers on the kitchen island.

And wouldn’t you know it—Noah didn’t try to sneak a single Goldfish that night.

What are the odds?