On “Why Men Hate ‘The Notebook'”

14 May 2011, 17:23 CDT

Doug links to a piece on Yahoo called ‘The Notebook: Why Men Hate It


Flat out, I don’t hate it.  I actually like the movie.  The story of a guy who loves a girl with everything he has.  This isn’t about me, it is what the article says about us.

The column is at least jaded, if not down right bitter.  Let’s be honest.  Most guys are lazy slobs.  They see Noah as an impossible standard at worst, and way too much work at best.  Selfishly, they’re satisfied with doing the minimum to get whatever they want out of a relationship.

Guys, women aren’t stupid.  They know the movie is fiction, and that by and large real life doesn’t happen the way it does in the movies.  “The Notebook” is no exception to that.  To suggest otherwise and say you hate the movie because of the unrealistic expectations it sets up means one of two things: either you’re not giving her enough credit to be able to separate life from a movie, or you’re with the wrong girl.

Either way it misses the point.  She might dream of a guy like Noah.  That isn’t necessarily a bad thing.  If she’s with you, does that tell you anything?  Do we believe that as men we have the capacity to love Ally as Noah did?  I do — because we have a clear instruction to love our wives as Christ loved the Church, and gave His life for her.  Guys, we’re going to fail her.  Often.  But we don’t give up.

It may not look like Noah.  It may not be 365 hand written letters and a white house with blue shutters.  It won’t be all fancy dinners and exotic flowers.  Yet in the end,  Noah understood something our grandparents did that precious few of us do.  It wasn’t about the things he could buy for her.  It wasn’t about doing to get for himself.  It was about her.  His love for Ally never quit.  He carried it on through unimaginable heartache into a quiet night, until his last breath.

Very much in the spirit of the house that Noah built, Andrew Peterson sings of one man’s Coral Castle

So night on night and year on year
Well, I worked until my hands no longer bled
And I let the ocean bear away my tears
So that she would know that I could love her best

Enough excuses.  Enough of being jaded.  Are we as men willing to set ourselves aside that our hands would bleed for her?


edit: the house is white and the shutters are blue.

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