When I was four years old, I was Dolly Parton for Halloween. I’ve been in the Dolly Parton game a long time. My hair, which was already curly, was set in foam rollers the night before for some reason. I remember I had Lee Press On nails, big plastic pink hoops, some sort of neon get up and little cowboy boots. My mom glued my eyes shut when trying to put on the fake lashes.
I know you’re all wondering. It was a nerf ball cut in half and, I think, glued into the front of my top. It was very effective. I remember my pre-school teacher shrieking in laughter and telling my mom later that she found those press-on nails all over the room all day. My brother was Kenny Rogers. (We had a lot of weird couple costumes when we were little that were probably kind of inappropriate: Cinderella and Prince Charming, Mulder and Scully, etc. It was a different time.)
I don’t have a lot of fond memories of my childhood. I don’t have a lot of memories of that time, period. But I do somehow remember the Dolly things. That Halloween, for instance. I also remember lying in my grandparent’s living room listening to Dolly sing the Little Drummer Boy on 8-Track at Christmas. (I’m old, sorry.) I remember watching Smokey Mountain Christmas every year. My other grandmother was a character actress in the 80s and 90s and she played one of the orphanage owners in that film and it was always good to know my Dolly Kevin Bacon number was two.
I grew up watching 9 to 5, Straight Talk, Steel Magnolias, and, when I was a teenager, I finally saw The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas. Hard Candy Christmas still slaps to hell and back.
And now being a Dolly fan has simply been woven into the fabric of my every day life. She pops up on my rotating desktop at work often. I have Dolly pins and Dolly t-shirts. When I was working through the pandemic, the library was open for front door service only, so when I was working in the stacks, I could play music on my phone. One of my coworkers said if she ever wanted to find me, she’d just follow the sound of Dolly. And liking Dolly was never niche. Anytime anyone notices my Dolly things, the response is always, “Oh, I love her.”
Oh, we loved her. We all did. She was bigger than music or film or philanthropy or fame. She became this mythical figure while she was still alive, a beacon of light and love, of kindness and grit, of rhinestones and blonde wigs and the perfect combination of hard work and talent and timing. She’s still those things, obviously, even thought she’s moved on to whatever comes next. Last year, when her husband died, I fretted internally that we were probably nearing the end. A thought that hovered in the periphery of my mind but that I could never look directly at. Her pulling back due to her health was noted and firmly ignored. I couldn’t think about it. I couldn’t consider what I knew to be true and happening.
I’ve never lived in a world without Dolly. I didn’t want to start. But, here we are. My partner called me at work to break the news, sounding serious and sincere because they know exactly how much esteem I hold Dolly in. And I’m not usually the kind of person to revel in the parasocial relationships we have with celebrities. People die, time creeps on, it is what it is. But this one does sting, I have to say. Not because I wanted her to extend her suffering or to live forever, but I feel like I’m mourning all of the good there was left for her to do.
She was so, so dedicated to doing good things. I don’t need to list her many accomplishments here; there are countless obituaries for you to scroll through if you’re somehow still unfamiliar with her game. And I worry, now, that the people left to handle her legacy won’t be up to the challenge of being so good-hearted.
There’s no reason for me to worry. I’m sure she handpicked those people. I’m sure she left detailed and extensive plans. It’s just that the world is so rough right now and everything is chipping away at our standards and morals from every which way and who can be as good as her? She was our best person. She was truly the best we had! And who is the new best person now? Is there a conclave sitting around a butterfly shaped table right now? Will the smoke turn pink?
When the news broke, I got so many texts. At work, there was an impromptu staff huddle in the back about who was going to go out and check on me and see if I needed to go home. People I don’t usually talk to or haven’t spoken to in years reached out to me. I learned very quickly that I was everyone’s Dolly friend. I said to my partner that I didn’t even think I talked about her very often they laughed at me.
So, as your Dolly friend, just know that I’m sad and upset and annoyed (so annoyed), but Dolly is bigger than her corporeal form and her legacy will carry on. And her good deeds have been designed in a way to help people for years and years to come. And though I am no longer alive at the same time as Dolly, there’s no such thing as a world without her, because she shines too brightly, an angel in rhinestones, just as she always was.
