At the ball, girls as young as 4 join Dad for dinner, dancing and testimony about living a "pure life." Purity balls have been held across the country.
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This, of course, is the kind of conversation that makes critics howl. What about a young woman's right to date whomever she pleases, make her own mistakes, learn from the experience, find out who she is and what matters to her? To which the Wilsons and their allies reply: If you still think this is just about sex, you are missing the whole point. The message, they say, is about integrity, being whole people, heart and soul and body. Wilson himself has said virginity pledges have a downside: "It heaps guilt upon them. If they fail, you've made it worse for them," he said. "Who is perfect in this world? One mistake doesn't mean it's all over." Everyone here has a story, and very few are in black and white. One man is dancing with his younger daughter, wishing his older girl had come as well. She used to wear a purity ring, he says, until a boy she knew assaulted her; she took it off--felt too dirty. Her parents gave her a new one, a bigger one; it took many months and much therapy, her father goes on, before she was able to put a ring on again. "That was part of a healing process," he says, "with the message that you're valuable no matter what someone did to you."
Symbols and Substance
After dinner comes the ballet performance, when seven tiny ballerinas in white tulle float in; then seven older dancers carry in a large, heavy wooden cross, which they drape in white, with a crown of thorns. Four of the five Wilson daughters are among the dancers, and they offer a special dance to their father, to the music of Natalie Grant: Your faith, your love And all that you believe Have come to be the strongest part of me And I will always be your baby ...
Then Randy and his friend Kevin Moore stand in front of the cross, holding up two large swords, points crossed. Fathers and daughters process beneath the swords to kneel; the girls place a white rose at the base of the cross while the fathers offer a quiet blessing. Splayed on the floor all around them are half a dozen photographers looking for the right angle and a camera crew from the BBC, in a syncopation of private praise and clicking shutters.
So what, exactly, does all this ceremony achieve? Leave aside for a moment the critics who recoil at the symbols, the patriarchy, the very use of the term purity, with its shadow of stains and stigma. Whatever guests came looking for, they are likely to come away with something unexpected. The goal seems less about making judgments than about making memories.
Out on the terrace under an almost moon, the black swans have vanished into the lake. David Diefenderfer has slipped outside for a cigarette; he's a leathery South Dakotan in a big black cowboy hat, and he hands over his card. HAVE GUN, WILL TRAVEL: BREEDER SERVICE, it says, with a picture of a syringe. He's in the cattle-reproduction business. He's also the father of nine children by seven women.
Three of his daughters are with him tonight, including 10-year-old Taylor. I asked what purity means to her. "I don't really know," she says, and she's shy about talking about all this. "But it means you make a promise to your dad to be a virgin until you are married and not have a lot of boyfriends."
That's what her oldest half sister Juliet was taught as well; she remembers hearing how her mother got pregnant the very first time she had sex. Juliet is now 37 and has come from Reno, Nev., where she works for Microsoft Licensing. She has watched the evening unfold with some skepticism. "I think I'm finding I'm more of a feminist than I thought," she says with a sly smile. "I had a hard time there hearing about 'rescuing' our girls. I was brought up to be a strong woman. Why would I need rescuing?" It's the boys who she thinks need help these days. "It's great for girls to have a Cinderella night with Dad, but families still need a good strong father role model," she says. The role-model question is tender for her. "I didn't have that--no offense, Dad," she says, and then she looks hard at him. "But my siblings do. He really stepped up to the plate. He's a great dad now. I say that with a tinge of jealousy. I'm not afraid to admit it."
Her father hopes his kids will learn from his mistakes. "I never planned to have nine children by seven women," he says. "I believe it's necessary to instill a set of values, give them tools to make good decisions." But he won't be there to help. Juliet explains when he goes back inside the ballroom to catch up to the younger girls: "We're sort of here on borrowed time," she says. David Diefenderfer has Stage 4 inoperable lung cancer; they figure tonight is something of a gift. "He won't be at their wedding," Juliet says, looking into the glowing room, "but they can look back and remember the dance they had tonight."
A Delicate Dance
If you listen long enough, you wonder whether there is really such a profound disagreement about what parents want for their children. Culture war by its nature pours salt in wounds, finds division where there could be common purpose. Purity is certainly a loaded word--but is there anyone who thinks it's a good idea for 12-year-olds to have sex? Or a bad idea for fathers to be engaged in the lives of their daughters and promise to practice what they preach? Parents won't necessarily say this out loud, but isn't it better to set the bar high and miss than not even try?
Maybe mixed messages aren't just inevitable; they're valuable. On the one hand, for all the conservative outcry, there is no evidence that giving kids complete and accurate information about sex and contraception encourages promiscuity. On the other, a purity pledge basically says sex is serious. That it's not to be entered into recklessly. To deny kids information, whether about contraception or chastity, is irresponsible; to mock or dismiss as unrealistic the goal of personal responsibility in all its forms may suit the culture, but it gives kids too little power, too little control over their decisions, as though they're incapable of making good ones. The research suggests they may be more capable of high standards than parents are. "It's always tempting as a parent to say, Do as I say, not as I do," says a father who's here for the first time. "But it's more valuable to make the commitment yourself. Children can spot hypocrisy very quickly."
The dancing goes on past midnight, when Randy Wilson finally has to shoo people out. Many of the girls are still light-footed, merry; it's their dads who are fading, and you wonder who will be leaning on whom as they head out into the cool mountain night.
Purity Pictures To see more of Marvi Lacar's photos, go to time.com/purity