You all know that my five-year-old son, Israel (or Issa as we fondly call him), has autism spectrum disorder (ASD). I have told you how — before and even after his diagnosis — I wrestled with accepting that my baby was autistic.
In the 80s to mid-90s, before the advent of drugs to prolong lives of HIV-positive people, many families worried about their plight when the man, who was in most cases the sole breadwinner, died of HIV-related complications.
EVERY WOMAN has an “on-it” tray, in which she has pressing personal, psychological and professional issues she is dealing with. Sometimes she is, ahem, on-it on a l-o-o-ng-term basis. At other times it is an on-and-off fling.