For me, when summer ended, that meant roller-skating, almost compulsively, around my Manhattan block. It also meant a lot of daydreaming. And foremost among my childhood fantasies? I hoped that one day, as I was roller-skating, Donna Summer would come walking down the street. We’d have a brief conversation, after which she’d decide, then and there, right on the spot, to adopt me. (Yes, I’m serious.) Listen, I loved my real mom, but she was going through a tough time, and surely everything was perfect in the glittery, disco-ball world of Donna Summer, right? At least it was in a child’s imaginings; cancer wasn’t something I thought about much back then either.