By Jeremy D. Wells
Carter County Times
Over the last week, I’ve watched tributes pour in for Dolly Parton, and read – often with a tear in my eye – as others shared their stories of and interactions with the late country music superstar.
I have my own Dolly story, though I don’t recollect any of it myself, of the day she gave me a kiss. Though I have no memory of it, as I was barely a year old at the time, I’ve heard the story often enough to be able to retell it with some degree of accuracy.
I also know it’s more than a story because, tucked away in my baby book, alongside an Eisenhower silver dollar and a two dollar bill folded to look like a diaper, is a worn piece of notebook paper bearing the signature, “Dolly Parton.” Proof that, no matter the particulars of the tale, my parents were there. They met her. And she signed an autograph for them.
But the way my mom tells it, they didn’t just stand in line and wait for that signature; the kind of thing my dad was never keen on doing. They waited in that line, to get that signature, after Dolly took umbrage with security and chastised them on behalf of my then 20-year-old mother.
As mom tells the story, it was the autumn of 1976, and Dolly was performing a show at Greenup County High School that she asked my dad to take her to see. With me on her hip for most of the show (I was the firstborn, and my mom was never really the type to leave us with others), it was getting into the tail-end of the night when mom briefly sat me on the edge of the stage, keeping firm hold of me, while she took a short rest.
She had just barely sat me down when someone working security for the event came over and began to rip into her, threatening to kick us out. Dolly, however, wasn’t having it. According to mom, Dolly told the security guard to leave her alone, and that we weren’t hurting anything.
She’d seen mom bouncing me from hip to hip the whole show and – true to the character that most of our nation learned to love and admire over the years – she figured mom deserved that little break.
According to mom she picked me up, commented on what a cute baby I was, and gave me a smooch on the cheek.
Or, at least, that’s how I remember it being related to me; and if all the details aren’t absolutely correct (remember, I wasn’t even a toddler yet when this occurred), the story itself is still true.
It’s always been a favorite of mine (Who else can say they’ve been kissed by Ms. Parton?) and it reinforces many of the things we already knew about Dolly even before she passed and everyone began sharing their own anecdotes. Her advocacy for children. For women. For the working class folks just trying to find an evening of joy.
Long before the Imagination Library sent books to every kid who asked for them. Before she created jobs for the people of Pigeon Forge and helped uplift the community she called home. Before she quietly donated her funds to support healthcare and medical research. Dolly Parton was keeping it real, remembering her roots, and standing up for the same kind of folk she came from; one tired mommy and bouncing baby boy at a time.
More than the music, more than the glamour, more than the roles in the Hollywood movies, that’s the kind of thing that makes a person beloved. Dolly sure as heck earned that adoration, and we’re sure going to miss her.
Contact the writer at editor@cartercountytimes.com
