The other day, I wrote about heroes. In that post, I said that our heroes, especially when we are young, are people we believe we can emulate, or at least become. So a young person’s hero might be an athlete because they don’t yet realize that being the best basketball player in their neighborhood doesn’t mean they have the talent to win a scholarship to UCLA or Indiana, let alone a contract with the Lakers or Celtics. Or, perhaps, they might idolize a musical performer before they realize that no matter how much they practice, they’ll never play guitar like Jimi Hendrix.
Once they realize they can’t emulate a hero, one hopes they will find another satisfying path and not grow bitter and cynical. If they want or need a hero, perhaps they can find one in someone who makes an admirable choice that they themselves could make.
When I was younger, Dolly Parton wasn’t a hero simply because I never could have imagined I could become like her. I don’t have her looks or talents—at least, not her talents. I could, however, identify with the sentiment in “Jolene”—a sense of insecurity over not being “good enough “—and realized that she was doing things of which I was capable, however imperfectly: She could empathize and express it, and thus herself, in a completely authentic way.
And that is why she is—dare I say it—a hero to so many of us, whether in the LGBTQ community or in other dilemmas not of our own making, or enlisted military members (many of whom grew up poor, as she did). She wasn’t simply feeding us “It Gets Better” platitudes; she was creating and, more important, simply being, something better because she was unapologetically who she was.
That is why we didn’t lose a hero yesterday: She will always be one. At least, one of mine.
