In seventh grade, I cried my eyes out in the rain. Not over a boy or a grade, but over Dolly Parton. It was the last day of our season pass to Dollywood. My family had made the nine-hour trip from Florida to little old Pigeon Forge, Tennessee, as we did several times that year, to spend one more day in that little slice of heaven.
When we walked through the butterfly gates, the crowd was abuzz with rumors that Dolly herself would be making an appearance in the parade. As an obsessive thirteen-year-old, I planted my family around the corner from her trailer early, hoping to get the best view. I swear I could feel her energy radiating from 60 feet away. The parade started. The announcers welcomed Dolly. And approximately fifteen seconds later, it started to drizzle, and she retreated inside to protect her wig.
I was crushed. And with Dolly’s passing almost 10 years later, that feeling is only amplified. Because, to me, Dolly wasn’t just my idol — she’s one of the reasons I’m the person I am today.
When a younger Ginger said she wanted to be like Dolly Parton, she didn’t mean that she wanted to be a country-music-loving, sarcastic, big-breasted blonde who wears too much pink — although that description has aged suspiciously well. She wanted to be a woman who embraces her intelligence, femininity, and talents without apology, and uses all of it to do something genuinely good. And, as a sex educator, Dolly’s commitment to doing good and educating others — with her signature Dolly twist — inspires me to do the same.
I put myself on the line and allow myself to become the butt of the jokes so my readers and students can relax enough to listen, learn, and ask the questions they would otherwise be too afraid to ask.
Behind the glitz, glamor, and candid takes, Dolly did a lot. To scratch the surface, Dollywood, her theme park, is credited with creating 23,000 jobs and $1.8 billion annually, effectively sustaining the economy of its small host town, Pigeon Forge. Two years after opening, Dolly personally pledged $500 to any seventh- or eighth-grader in the county who completed high school to combat dropout rates. When wildfire swept through the Smokies, she hosted a telethon to send monthly checks to displaced residents. During COVID, she donated $1 million to fund research on the Moderna vaccine. And over the past 31 years, Dolly’s Imagination Library has sent free books to children every single month, over 300 million in total.
What made these accomplishments remarkable to me wasn’t the scale, albeit it’s unimaginable, but the humility behind it. After all this philanthropy, the city of Nashville proposed erecting a statue in her honor, and she declined, stating, “Given all that is going on in the world, I don’t think putting me on a pedestal is appropriate at this time. I hope, though, that somewhere down the road, several years from now or perhaps after I’m gone, if you still feel I deserve it, then I’m certain I will stand proud in our great State Capitol as a grateful Tennessean.” This was a woman who performed in five-inch sequined heels with wigs bigger than her head. She was never shy about taking up space on stage, but when the attention shifted to her goodness rather than her talent, she stepped aside.
If you’re going to change the world, you might as well do it with a wink, a laugh, and a very good outfit.
I wish I could say I was that selfless, but I am trying to be. My passion is sex education, a topic Dolly never shied away from, and the way I try to change lives feels like an ode to her: I put myself on the line and allow myself to become the butt of the jokes so my readers and students can relax enough to listen, learn, and ask the questions they would otherwise be too afraid to ask.
My favorite Dolly moment captures exactly what I mean: A young man once asked her what advice she had for teens, and she famously said, “Act like it’s raining every day and wear your rubbers.” It’s hilarious. It’s also good advice.
That’s what inspires me most about Dolly: She knew how to make people laugh long enough to let their guard down, then slip in a real message past the rhinestones. I’d like to think that’s the kind of impact I’m making, too. People are so busy gawking at the candid things I say that the impact sneaks by without a second thought — like how Dolly drew people in with her larger-than-life appearance, and made them love her due to her kind and undoubtedly good heart.
In a way, that’s the biggest thing I’ve learned from Dolly — that if you’re going to change the world, you might as well do it with a wink, a laugh, and a very good outfit.