Dear Billy Ray Cyrus

Dear Billy Ray Cyrus,

This morning in the Webb home you would have heard YOUR daughter’s song, “The Climb,” played on You Tube, over and over again, by MY daughters. You see, Emily, my 8 year old, and her class are singing “The Climb” this morning during the closing assembly at her elementary school and she wanted to practice.

I was saddened as I listened to the words and watched scenes from Miley’s movie, “Hannah Montana,” flash across my laptop.

Hannah Montana has been a part of my family for years. For crying out loud, my 3½ year-old daughter, Mia, has been pretending to sing like “Hannah Tannah” since she could walk.

My girls adore her and I have always adored her daddy, Robby Ray.

You see, I would have loved to have had a daddy like Robby Ray. A daddy that held me to a high standard and expected the best from me; a daddy that put his daughter first, held her, and gently taught her those things only a daddy can teach a girl. Robby Ray was that daddy. I can’t tell you how many episodes I cried through. I adored Robby Ray and in my mind Billy Ray and Robby Ray were the same. So I adored you too. Until recently. Not because of your success in music. I’m not a big country fan. I adored you because of the daddy I thought you were. Like I said, until recently.

Billy Ray, can I give you some advice? Perhaps this week, while the 85 “Hannah Montana” reruns play, grab a bag of popcorn, sit down with Trish, and watch them together. Check out the way Robby Ray parents his beautiful daughter, how he lovingly reigns her back in every time she starts to get off course, pay special attention to the high standard he teaches her to live by.

Perhaps when you watch those reruns, instead of grabbing the popcorn, pick up a notebook and pen. I think Robby Ray could teach you a whole lot about parenting.

Sincerely,
A Crushed Fan