On this day in history, the most gentle and Jesus-loving woman I ever knew was born in Nashville, Tennessee, my maternal grandmother, Mrs. Willie Mae Hunter Hathaway. Her parents were Mrs. Janie Mae (Buchanan) Hunter and Mr. Charles Henry Hunter. Through family oral history, I, we, have been told my great-grandmother was a caregiver, she could cook and clean well, and was one of the best people to iron clothes in the neighborhood. My great-grandfather was a tall, attractive, a very fair complexioned African American man and it is believed he was of white and of Hispanic descents.

Our nicknames for one another were and still are “Old Lady,” “Little Girl,” “Moma,” “Queenie Mae,” (similar to her name) “Granny,” “G’anny’s Baby,” and “Ma’am.” To family and close friends, I am “Little Willie Mae” and to my grandfather she was “Mrs. Willie” and “Ms. Tennie,” and I was “Tessie,” and “Tessie Ann” (similar to my mother’s name).  

She gave birth to six (6) children, all fathered by her husband and a tower of equal power; my grandfather, Mr. Joe Miller Hathaway, Sr. My beautiful mother, Ms. JoAnn Hathaway, was their second (2nd) child and only daughter. If you saw Willie Mae, you saw Joe Miller or one was a short distance away. Both were my definition of strength and staying power in a marriage. Their fifty-two (52) year long love story is one I sought to mimic. Their extraordinary companionship, their shared joy for cooking (often together in the kitchen) for our large family and even larger church family was to be admired. My grandparents made my special food requests and Moma used to fix my plate into my adulthood (as if I was still a child). She made the crispiest fried chicken in a cast iron skillet I have ever tasted. Two chicken legs and a wing combined with Great Northern white beans or pinto beans, macaroni and cheese, turnip and mustard greens, broccoli and cheese, tomato and cucumber salad, and what I called “pancake cornbread” (a southern cuisine known as –“flap-jacks”) with a thick slice of chess pie were my favorite dishes.

I resided with my grandparents for a couple of years while I was in graduate school. Many nights, I would come in late from class and Moma would be waiting up for me in the den. Daddy would be sitting up in bed watching the local nightly news, CNN, or MSNBC. Dinner was cooked, sometimes sitting on the stove (reheated) or my plate in the microwave because the kitchen was already shutdown. I would walk in, give Moma a hug, kiss on the cheek, and pinch her. I would hear Daddy say, “That’s that gal. I can go to sleep now.” I, then, would go shake his hand, give him a forehead kiss, and sit on the edge of the bed as we discussed current events of the day. Mr. Joe Miller Hathaway, Sr. was my introduction to the political arena and is the reason I am a political scientist. 

Tennessee Preparatory Schools (TPS) (1200 Foster Avenue, Nashville, Tennessee 37210) is synonymous with the Hathaway Family. At one point, three (3) generations labored there as security, cooks, farmers, and in supervisory roles.  My grandparents worked together. Granny was the custodian supervisor and granddaddy was the cook supervisor. As children, we ran in the halls, walked around campus, cleaned up, had lunch in the cafeteria, played basketball in the gymnasium and hide-and-go-seek in the high school building. All the faculty, staff, students, and administrators knew and loved us and it was in kind.

My granny was My Nurturer. Our souls spoke to one another and not a physical word had to be uttered. I am still living off her prayers. She was often the person I called during my travels, when I was not feeling my best, she was who I cried to and on the most, and who I shared my greatest moments with first. She was the last person I would see and sit with when I wanted to get what I call, “a dose of Nashville love” before I returned to one of my “home states.” 

According to psychology, a child that sits upon their parent’s lap develops a deep sense of self-confidence, emotional health, and has familiarity as when in the womb. I got my lap time. I was sung to and rocked by my granny from the time of my infancy until I was in my early thirties. And, that was only because she grew feeble. She had a hearty singing voice to that of one born out of the Southern Freedom Movement. Two of her favorite recording artists were Ms. Aretha Franklin and Ms. Mahalia Jackson.

My grandmother brought my grandfather to Christ. He went on to be a lay preacher and deacon at a small Church of Christ where the majority of my mother’s siblings, Sissy, and members of my father’s family still worship every Sunday. It is also the congregation I was baptized at on New Year’s Day 1999. The first half dozen of my holy bibles came from my grandmother, and nearly every pair of shoes I wore to school in the early years of my teaching career were either purchased by her or because we wore the same shoe size came from her closet. 

The Word of God says in Matthew 18:20, “For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them.” We had bible study/church service at home. Many times, it would be three (3) or four (4) of us, my grandfather (Daddy would read and interpret the scriptures first), my mother’s eldest brother (led songs from the Sacred Selections for the Church and tan spiral coiled hymnal book and pray), my grandmother and I would listen, join the discussion, and sing along as well. There were just times we would all simply sing gospel songs together just because. Those were some of my best Church memories. 

Mrs. Willie Mae Hathaway knew the value of fashion and jewelry. She was the stereotypical "sharp dressing church lady with the big hat." She gave me my first diamonds before I was ten (10) years old. She said that all women and girls should have them. She was a statuesque and stable woman at six feet one inch (6’1’’) tall. She had a natural beauty and was a classy lady, rarely wore makeup other than a pretty shade of red lipstick and pink or red fingernail polish. She had the softest hair I have ever touched. From the time I was a little girl, I would part and comb her hair, scratch her scalp, oil and plait it. Sometimes when I was finished, she would twirl it into little balls.

Sissy and my cousins often would say, “You act like you are the only grandchild and she is only your granny.” My response, “I am the firstborn. She is my granny and I do not have to share.” I still remember hers, my grandfather’s, my mother’s and father’s social security numbers like I do my own. We are “tied together in a single garment of destiny” and DNA. She modeled and taught me to be a wife, to be refined and dignified, to have good manners, to stand up for myself, to love the Lord with all my heart, to give my best and not to half do anything. 

Moma will have transitioned four (4) years this coming February. I have yet to address fully that she has left this side of glory. This piece shall serve as the beginning of my grieving. I am one-fourth (¼) Mrs. Willie Mae Hathaway. She is my tribe, my race, my beginnings, and we will see one another when my endings come. That is my Hope! She was and will forever be my blessing. In the lyrics of Mr. Jesse Belvin, “Good Night My Love.” Happy 82nd Birthday!

Love,

Dr. Quintessa Hathaway

2022 Democratic Nominee

118th United States Congress (2023-2025)

Arkansas' Second District (AR-02)

Founder, Chief Executive Officer, And Lead Consultant

Q. Hathaway And Associates, LLC