Catherine Gigante-Brown

I’m a firm believer that Tiny Kindnesses can change the world, one sweet, loving gesture at a time.

"Sometimes David wore his hair spiked like a cockscomb. Others, he wore it feathery like a baby chick. He wore his Mohawk to summer camp (exchanging encouraging head chucks with another older camper who sported one, too) and even to Vacation Bible School—no judgment there."

That’s the thing about being a breast cancer survivor — it’s always there: it never goes away. The scars, the fear that lurks in the back of your mind like a boogeyman. You’re going along nicely, living your merry life, and you’re fine, until you’re not.

Once upon a time, it was easier to keep track of gender. Today, not so much — the lines are blurred. For many, gender’s not so much about questioning your own identity as it is about questioning the very nature of identity.

My husband and I agreed: raising a child with an independent spirit who made decisions for himself was a good thing.

8. Educate, don’t fixate.

Being a little bit chubby is better than being a lot dead.

I try. I really do. But whenever I attempt to embrace my husband Peter’s Cuban culture, I always screw up.

I was 21 –– a Catholic, heterosexual college student, living at home in Brooklyn and still trying to discover who I was. At the crossroads of her life, Lorde knew exactly who she was. She was waging a war against cancer and sharing an old house in Staten Island with her kids and partner. But maybe we weren’t so different after all.

"Remember, this isn’t just happening to you, it’s happening to moms everywhere. It’s not your fault — "