In Memory of Dolly

Dolly Parton has died, and I am bereft.

I don’t claim special connection. I don’t even feel I had a parasocial relationship—I know she was special to millions of us, and my heart breaks for the people who were truly special to her for their loss. But regardless, we now live in a world without Dolly, and we are worse off for it. She was an incredible person, as well as a great artist. Her philanthropy was the kind that we wish more of the very wealthy could embody. Her impact on Tennessee and Appalachia as a whole is monumental and generational.

I know this site is for theological discussion, and I am always thinking about things in that light. But Dolly has died. I am so sad, and so I want to share what she did for me.

I was incredibly blessed (I use that word intentionally) to see her in concert ten years ago—the summer of 2016—at Red Rocks in Colorado. I went with one of my best friends, her mom, and our other dear friend. The four of us had the time of our lives watching this remarkable 70-year-old woman play a 2 and a half hour set in stiletto heels, playing multiple instruments, singing just as well as she ever did, and telling us stories. It was pure joy. At one point, Dolly began reminiscing about Red Rocks and her past performances there. She talked about early in her career, when she toured with Willie Nelson as well as other men of the “Outlaw Country” genre, and the shenanigans the men got into. She spoke of it with such love and joy, but we all couldn’t help but laugh at imagining our dear Dolly with Willie and the boys at Red Rocks in the 70s. It had to have been a very “interesting” experience (if you’re familiar with Red Rocks, you’ll know exactly what I mean. The altitude is not the only thing notoriously high there).

But I also remember feeling a strong sense of encouragement from her story. At the time, I was working in a theology department at a small Christian school. I was one of two women in the department, and it was incredibly difficult to feel like I was being taken seriously. I had to defend my qualifications constantly, mostly to 18-year-olds.  I was never afforded a kind of assumed authority in my own courses. And so I found myself struggling with self-confidence, but more acutely I was struggling to know who I was. I have never considered myself a tomboy, but I was in this place told frequently how “masculine” I was. (I want to take a moment here to just state that none of that is appropriate, regardless of how I saw myself or what gender identity meant to me at the time. It is always inappropriate to dictate how anyone should behave in strict “masculine” or “feminine” terms. But this was where I was, and what was happening, and it was very hard on me.)

I had started dressing as professionally as I could. I wore heels and button-down shirts and business skirts. I also started wearing bright pink lipstick to highlight my womanhood. I dyed my hair blonde. I was trying to find myself by adopting as many aspects of dress that could possibly combine to take some of the pressure off.

And so as I stood there, listening to Dolly talk about being the woman in a male dominated field, in a time when she was also fighting to be taken seriously. But what I love about Dolly both now and then, maybe especially then, is that she did not lose herself. She did not conform. She was loudly, unapologetically herself.

I’m sure she struggled. I cannot imagine that she was always comfortable with her position, and maybe she even thought about shifting. Toning down her signature look or stepping into a friendlier area. But she didn’t. She strove on, wigs and lipstick, and stiletto heels, glitter, butterflies, and all the very Dolly things that she was. In that moment, she showed me that I could also be myself. As she said, “Find out who you are and do it on purpose.”

Years later for my 40^th birthday, a group of amazing friends and I went to Dollywood to celebrate. We wore sequins. We strolled through the park, eating the food and watching the concerts and marveling in the Dolly-ness of it all. It was one of the greatest weekends. We had rented a cabin in Gatlinburg, and we bonded, watched Jaws (it was the 4^th of July weekend, after all) and Barb and Star Go to Vista Del Mar (a true celebration of female friendship and magic). We did a wine and moonshine tour, and some of us saw a bear by the cabin. After, my friends all told me how much they enjoyed it even though most of them didn’t know each other before. We talked about how lucky I was that ten women could spend a weekend in a cabin and just simply get along—though I think this is far more frequent than we give women credit for. I have framed photos from the weekend around my house. I am glad I have cultivated such friendships, but I truly believe that weekend was built out of the love and confidence Dolly had taught me.

Dolly has given me a sense of womanhood that I sorely needed, but it is not a sense of womanhood that demands anything. It is freedom to be who we are, to laugh together and cry together. To help one another and to lift each other. This is something I have made a priority as I grow in my career. I want to bring others up with me, making sure I help those who are on the outskirts of what can be a very difficult “club” to join. Theology as an academic discipline is important and meaningful, but it is also elitist and exclusive when it should not be. Dolly taught me that I can open the doors. Kick them down in my own heels (which I no longer feel I need to wear, thank goodness). My signature pink lipstick I owe to her, as well as the person I now feel comfortable being.

One of the Dolly themed presents I received over the years is a book by Lauren Marino called What Would Dolly Do? A book simply inspired by Dolly, Marino has filled it with advice, information, and wonderful Dollyisms. One quote within it is this: “Over the years I have had a few angels in my life…these angels have helped me succeed, taught me things I needed to understand to grow, and returned my love.” I echo this; I have had angels in my life as well. Friends, family, supervisors and coworkers. Mentors and teachers. I am incredibly blessed by who has helped lift me up. And I am so grateful that one of those people continues to be Dolly. As we mourn her, let us rise up to be like her. To show love the way she did. To take up space the way she did. To recognize the beauty in all of God’s children, in God’s creation, and to celebrate it with the joy she embodied.