My mother had a selection of CDs inside her CD binder as we drove down the Van Giesen bypass in the late 1990’s. Everything from Nickelback, Three Doors Down, The Smashing Pumpkins and then, funny enough, Essential: Dolly Parton.
She would pop in Parton as she tired of hearing about a photograph or being stuck like a rat in a cage. “Here You Come Again” would play peacefully as we drove down our little suburban town of West Richland, Washington.
Parton was no stranger to my mother, because her mother enjoyed when Parton would come on the television and tell a story, play a song, or answer studio audience questions.
Parton united our perception of what America could have been. But some women over others failed to get onboard with liberation at a time where pouring a cup of ambition needed your husband’s permission.
