The world lost another great one this week. For decades, the mention of Dolly Parton’s name immediately conjured up images of big blonde hair, an even bigger bosom above a tiny waistline, a gorgeous smile, and a wonderful musical talent.

But her death has reminded us of the Dolly beneath the surface: the woman who used her gifts to climb from abject poverty to tremendous success . . . and then used that success, not to build palaces and monuments to herself, but to help countless others in need as she once had been.

And that has made me think about my own life, and the lives of most people who, like myself, aren’t fortunate enough to have been born with Dolly’s musical talent and business acumen. We’ll never have the financial wherewithal to do the things she did for others: sending hundreds of millions of books to children to promote literacy, helping victims of natural disasters rebuild their lives, contributing to medical research, bringing business to her home state, and so much more.

Yes, most of us make our contributions to society by working hard at whatever it is we do best, living honest lives, and teaching our children to do the same. But is that all we have to offer? So many of us — myself included — would like to do more, perhaps in some volunteer capacity, but always seem to find an excuse: demanding jobs, family obligations, our own physical limitations.

But that didn’t stop Dolly. Even in her last, terrible illness, she released a new recording and directed that 100% of the proceeds go to the care of children fighting cancer. She never stopped thinking of others; and she dug down to find that last measure of strength to do one final good deed.

Reading all of the beautiful, well-deserved tributes to Dolly in the past two days, I have been feeling pretty inadequate. I hope I’ve done a bit of good in my life . . . but is it enough? Have I really made the maximum effort? Do I have more to give?

I’m wrestling with those questions today, and searching for ways in which I might leave more of a legacy when my turn comes . . . not for self-aggrandizement, but for having left the world a little better than I found it.

And while I ruminate on those possibilities, maybe — at the very least — my words will inspire someone else to do the same. If so, it’s a start.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
8/26/26