The Dolly I never Knew

I grew up knowing Dolly Parton without ever really knowing Dolly Parton.

She was just… there.

Her songs played in my mom’s car. Her name was part of country music long before I understood anything about country music. When I was six, my family visited my aunt and uncle in Nashville and took a trip to Dollywood. I remember the rides. I remember getting sunburned. And for some reason, I remember this random picture of me standing in a doll store with my shoulders shrugged and my face twisted into an “I don’t know” expression. My mom loved that picture. I’m pretty sure she even had it framed at one point.

Later, there were trips to Branson and the Dixie Stampede. My mom loved it. I mostly remember the cattle. The horses. The smells.

Dolly was woven into the background of my childhood.

But it would take me almost forty years to actually see her.

Fast forward to March of this year.

I was back in Nashville, this time with my friends—my girl gang. At some point, they decided they wanted to visit a Dolly Parton exhibit at the Country Music Hall of Fame. I wasn't exactly thrilled. I remember thinking something along the lines of, Okay. Sounds like something new, I guess.

Then, in a plot twist seemingly designed specifically for me, I discovered there was also a Taylor Swift exhibit happening that same weekend.  So naturally, I walked in giddy and excited and completely wowed by that first.

By the time we made our way into the Dolly exhibit, I thought I knew what to expect. Sequins. High heels. Cowboy hats. Guitars. Songwriting notes. All the things I had associated with Dolly for as long as I could remember.

And they were there.

But underneath all of it was a woman I had somehow never seen.

There were stories I had never heard. Stories of love. Of forgiveness. Of courage. Of incredible strength. I learned more about the childhood she came from and the life she built. I learned about the man she loved for nearly sixty years. I learned about her faith and her love for Jesus.

And then, surrounded by glass cases, soft lights, sequins, and stories, Dolly Parton stepped out of the background of my life.

But it was an interview playing inside the exhibit that really stopped me.

I stood there listening to Dolly talk about the things she believed. About loving people. About gay marriage. About giving to people who had less. About feeding people who were hungry and making sure children had access to education.

And I remember thinking, Wait a second. I believe these things too.

There was so much wisdom in the way she spoke. She wasn't loud about it. She wasn't trying to convince anyone that she was a good person. She just seemed incredibly sure of what she believed—and even more sure that loving people was supposed to be part of it.

I had spent my whole life associating Dolly Parton with sequins and big hair and “9 to 5” and “I Will Always Love You.” But standing there, I realized that underneath all of that glamour was someone who had spent decades quietly putting her beliefs into action.

She didn't just talk about caring for people. She cared for them.

I remember standing in front of one of her dresses for the longest time after the interview ended. All those rhinestones and sequins sparkling in front of me, and suddenly they weren't the most interesting thing about her at all.

I think I actually said out loud, “I had no idea.”

And maybe that's the part that has stayed with me most.

I had no idea.

I walked out of that exhibit admiring a woman I had barely given much thought to when I walked in. Not because of what she had accomplished or how famous she had become, but because of the way she seemed to move through the world—completely herself, deeply rooted in what she believed, and still making room to love people who were different from her.

I wanted a little more of that in myself.

Finding out about her passing was another pivotal moment for me. As I scrolled through social media, I noticed the broad spectrum of people—across all the usual dividing lines—sharing the same love and admiration for this woman.

People who probably didn't agree on much of anything agreed on Dolly.

And there was something incredibly beautiful about that.

We live in a time when it often feels like there are more things dividing us than joining us. More reasons to choose sides. More reasons to decide who is right and who is wrong, who belongs and who doesn't.

And then there was Dolly.

Maybe the reason Dolly was loved by so many different kinds of people wasn't because they all agreed with her. Maybe it was because she somehow figured out how to love people without first requiring them to agree with her. 

What an inspiration.

To love like Dolly. To judge a little less like Dolly. To help the people who need it like Dolly. And to be authentically, unapologetically, fabulously ourselves like Dolly.

Maybe the world could use a little more Dolly in all of us