Catherine Gigante-Brown

Although I tried to convince myself that I wasn't racist, if the truth were told, I didn't like Muslims. Especially after 9/11.

Wrinkles or lifelines? Chunky or curvaceous? The choice is yours.

To the tattoo artist, I was a flesh canvas that she could transform into something beautiful.

In the photograph, my great-grandmother, Margarita Cirigliano, is sitting at a small table on the front porch of the family home in Borough Park, Brooklyn.

The hell with his elaborate metaphors and rhetorical phrases. Iambic pentameter is cruel and unusual punishment.

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

Makeup and I have always had a love/hate relationship: I love it; it hates me.

Even when I explained to my son that he came from a long line of short people, it didn’t help. David still felt bad about being small. How could a five-year-old possibly get this type of size-shaming message? From other people, mostly insensitive adults. They gave him the idea that bigger was somehow better.

I sat obediently in her chair atop four ancient copies of the Yellow Pages. Crossing my fingers, I prayed Catholic schoolgirl prayers.

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