Leaving the nest unattended

After 50 hours in New York City — to get out of the neighborhood and take in a couple of plays — my wife and I returned home, where we had left our nineteen-year-old son Cale to his own devices. His older sister thought us crazy. And so began our second journey, an investigation, sniffing for clues as to what happened in our absence. Hmm… clue number one: a strange car sits in the drive.

Clue two: We get blasted by an overwhelming odor as we open the front door. Room freshener. ”Oust” Surface Disinfectant & Air Sanitizer. OK, Cale and his bros tried. Must have used five cans of the stuff. This explains the one, slightly ominous text I received from Cale in NYC the night before: “Dad, when will you be home?”

I did not text or otherwise attempt to contact Cale in the two nights we were out of town. No news is good news. No calls to my cell from the cops, the mayor, some attorney, a reporter, the emergency room, one of the neighbors. Cale is nineteen, soon to begin his sophomore year in college. His bros are eighteen, nineteen, twenty. For all intents and purposes, unless catastrophe strikes, they are beyond lectures. And if I had put in a call to Cale, I would have gotten jive. “Yo, Cale, how’s it going?” “C’mon dad, it’s all good. We’re just chillin’. What’d you think we’d be doing? Peace.”

Clue three: All my framed photographs are missing from the living room and dining room. Responsible thinking. The way was cleared for bro wrestling, dancing, boogie down productions, whatever.

Clue three: As soon as we arrive back home Anthony stumbles up from the basement like something out of the Night of the Living Dead. The Man Cave down there, a tight circle of Adirondack chairs, beach chairs, plastic white lawn chairs, a bare light bulb hanging from the wooden rafters, and an ancient church pew strewn with hip hop and rock CDs, is a semi-partitioned dump, concrete floor, assorted frayed wires and plumbing piping running along the exposed ceiling. It is about ten feet wide by fifteen feet deep. Concrete block walls. Someone forgot to spray “Oust” in the Man Cave.

Clue three: A man/boy’s body is stretched across a bed in one of the bedrooms. He died with his boots on, and all his clothes. Out cold. He does have a pulse.

Clue four: What are a couple of 12-inch screwdrivers doing in the kitchen and dining room? Turns out one of the bros locked himself in the bathroom, and they tried to pry him out with pliers.

Clue five: both our dogs are still alive. And I find no dog poop on the carpet.

More than once I’ve wondered: why is our 1950s ranch house bro central? Cale has bros who live in McMansions with built-in pools, patios, family room basements, landscaped acres of yard, entertainment rooms, home theatres. I think I know the attraction. At our place all the bros jam in around the flat screen or down in the Man Cave. They are more nostalgic than I think. For something retro, something that I cannot put a finger on.

Clue six: What is the turtle and his large, heavy tank doing in our back bedroom? Cale says later he needed to clear some space out. For a PlayStation convention? Smackdown wrestling?

Clue seven: An unopened box of Flex Odor Control Unscented Tall Kitchen garbage bags sits on the dining room table. Well, it’s the thought that counts.

Clue eight: Furniture still upright. DVD players still work.

Clue nine. Martha doesn’t rush over our first morning back to grab my wife and say, “You really oughta know what happened…” No evil stares from the neighbors. No reports our house was lit up like a riverboat casino. No reports of three o’clock in the morning backyard grinding and bumping and cigar smoking.

Clue ten: No tire tracks in the front yard.

We rolled the dice and got away with one here. Nothing happened. Something sure as hell could’ve. Why risk it? Most of Cale’s crew are good guys we’ve known since grade school. And it’s time to break away and let go. Nineteen years old is a weird age, somewhere between “What’s for dinner, mom?” and possibly hunting down the Taliban. I can say this: I have no interest in winning “coolest parent” honors. Like William Tecumseh Sherman, if nominated I will not run; if elected I will not serve.

Me and my footprint

Brrriinnggg!!!

Brrriinnggg!!!

“Hello?

“Who’s calling? What’s that? The Society for a Sustainable Future?

“Well god bless you. What can I do for you?

“Do I have a few minutes for a poll? How can I say no to a Sustainable Future? Fire away.

“What’s that? Do I believe changes in individual behaviors and attitudes will make the biggest impact on a sustainable future? You bet. I love the environment, love it.

“Do I recycle? Of course. What could be easier? Trash in the red barrel. Plastic, glass and newspapers in the blue barrel. They teach this is pre-school, you know.

“What’s that? What is my thermostat set at right now? Wait a minute….

“80 degrees.

“That’s right, 80.

“Why so high? It’s December, you know. You’re calling north of the Mason-Dixon line. But in the summer it’s air conditioning 24/7 baby. OK. OK. Don’t worry, I’ll turn it down tonight.

“To what? I don’t know. Maybe 75. I like to feel toasty. Especially with the electric blanket on. Don’t worry. It’s got dual controls. That’s being energy-efficient, right?
“What’s that? What electric appliances do I run most often?

“Well, you have to understand, I’m one of those people, soon as I get home, the television goes on. Has to. I can’t stand a quiet house. Freaks me out. So the television is on basically whenever I’m home. At least I don’t sleep with it on. I knew a guy, couldn’t go to sleep at night without the TV on. Strange, huh?

“Then I might go in the kitchen and turn on NPR. No, I’m not really listening or watching. The news is too depressing. Have you watched it lately? Then, let’s see. I might pop something in the microwave.

“How often do I use the microwave? Ma’am, you know the world we live in. I’m microwaving every night. There’s no time.

“How far do I commute to work? Hah. Got ya there. I work at home. How many points do I get for that?

“Can I walk to where I shop for food.? What a concept, walk to shop. Just kidding. I could but I don’t. Why? I’d have the carry the stuff home. And those water bottles are heavy.

“How many water bottles do I consume in a day? I got to admit, I’m a little obsessive about my water bottles. It’s like I’m addicted. What? How many are in my frig right now? We’re getting a little personal, aren’t we? Just kidding. Wait…

“Ah, I guess there are about 20 or 30 in there. Hey, calm down. They’re eight-ounce Deer Parks. Of course, then I’ve got my giant tubular bottles of Smartwater. Can’t beat Smartwater. Oh, and then we have the easy pour three-quart jug of Deer Park for making coffee.

“What’s that you say? I’ve got enough plastic to cover an infield during a rain delay? I dunno, I never thought of it that way. C’mon, you gotta give me some points for recycling it all.

Diet and driving
“You want to talk more about diet? OK. How much beef do I eat? What’s that got to do with anything? What’s that you say? Raising livestock for human consumption creates 51% of GHG emissions, and pollutes rives and lakes. Well, I’m good for a couple of burgers a week, that’s about it. I’m not a big beef guy. I get points for that, right?

“What? What do I think about the cruelty of factory farming? To who? I know, I know, the farmers’ got it rough. The cattle? C’mon, they don’t even know where they are. They have pea brains. Just kidding. Alright. Alright. Jeez, I didn’t know this was a sore spot with you. This is where sustainability gets a little touchy feely for me. But don’t deduct any points, OK?

“My driving habits? OK. Well, I don’t have any points right now. I’m a good driver. “What’s that? How often do I drive somewhere where I could walk instead? Never. Listen, I live in the suburbs. We have sidewalks that lead to nowhere. Seriously, they just suddenly end, like they ran out of cement. Makes no sense. You know the suburbs, nothing is close to anything. The school’s too far to walk. Church, library, too far. Now did you ever once hear of anyone walking to a McDonald’s? Or Wal-Mart. Imagine someone actually walking to Wal-Mart. You could pull a hammy just crossing the parking lot.

“How many cars do I own? Let’s see. Five. What can I say, I like cars. And that’s not including the kids’ cars. When they’re home the front yard look like a moonshine runners’ convention what with all the cars all over.

“Would I consider purchasing a small, more fuel-efficient car, or a hybrid? The hybrid’s a little pricey for me, nice idea and all. You know, the economy isn’t exactly cooking along. We could still be in a recession. Who knows. And ah, small cars, they make me claustrophic. I don’t need those huge tail fins, we’ve outgrown them at least. And all the chrome. Nice, but you gotta move on…. Still, you know, this is America, not China. We’re a car nation.

Housing
“Would I consider downsizing into a smaller, more energy-efficient home? Like in England and Germany? But they’re row homes, aren’t they? Nothing against people who live in row homes. To each their own. But I’ve worked my career for my castle here. I’m kidding. This ain’t no McMansion. Don’t dock me too many points. But this is America, you know. We gotta express ourselves.

“What’s that you say? Am I willing to make meaningful reductions in my lifestyle for a sustainable future? What’s a meaningful reduction? You mean go back to something more simple? You mean give back? Not exactly the American way, but I guess I could go without so many water bottles. I don’t know if the family needs eight computers. But some of ‘em are old. I’d love to get rid of the kids’ cell phones, but that train left the station a long time ago. I don’t have an e-book or an iPad; I’ve got to get some points for that, huh? Let’s see, more reductions? Well, I guess I don’t have to use my underground sprinkler system every night on the grass. And to be honest with you, I could probably cut back on my 104-inch flat screen. It kind of takes over the room, you know?

“So that’s it? How did I score? What’s that? I’ve got a footprint the size of Crater Lake. You’re putting me on. Now exactly what is a footprint?

Who, me anxious?

A March 2011 survey by the American Psychological Association on “Stress in the Workplace” saw the glass half (or one-third) empty — emphasizing that 36 percent of workers said they typically feel tense or stressed out during their workday.

That leaves more than 60 percent not feeling particularly tense or stressed out during the day.

Call it the silent majority of the comfortably satisfied. Or acceptably challenged by their work.

Of course psychologists would be staring at empty waiting rooms in a world without stress, which is why APA places its emphasis where it does in its survey.

And we all know that “good news” doesn’t sell magazines and newspapers. Imagine a Time cover story: “Why Most Americans Don’t Feel Particularly Anxious About Anything.”

Well, here’s some good news for you:

77 percent of employees report having a positive relationship with their boss, according to the APA survey.

85 percent enjoy positive relations with their co-workers.

66 percent say they are motivated to do their very best for their employer.

(APA phrases it “only two-thirds” but in any office I’ve ever worked in, if two-thirds were trying “to do their very best” that’d be a pretty damn productive office. Many people hang on to the 80/20 rule, you know, 80 percent of the work is done by 20 percent of the people. So 66 percent seems good to me.

All in all, I’d say these percentages point to a fairly non-threatening, accomodating work environment.

The Penn State scandal: Eyes wide open

The term willful blindness refers to an individual who could have known the facts of a situation, and should have known the facts, but deliberately blinded himself to the existence of the facts.

It will be a long time before all the facts come out, if they ever do, about the charges up in Happy Valley, Pennsylvania that former assistant football coach Jerry Sandusky sexually abused at least eight young boys 40 times during a span of 15 years, some of which allegedly took place at the football complex.

Recently fired legendary football coach Joe Paterno has been accused of willful blindness. It’s argued that Penn State, a huge university with more than 40,000 students on the main campus and an annual budget of $4 billion, suffers from a case of institutional willful blindness.

JoePa regrets now that he did not “do more” after learning of an alleged incident involving Sandusky and a youth in football complex shower room in 2002. Sandusky was first investigated by campus police in 1998 after a alleged incident. After retiring in 1999, he retained “privileges”: he was invited to games to which he sometimes brought boys; on one bowl trip he took a young boy along. Sandusky maintained an office and had keys to the athletic facilities to workout and shower. I don’t call this willful blindness; it’s an open invitation.

Sandusky says there is nothing to be blind about; he is innocent, and has claimed to be since day one.

This tragedy is all too reminiscent of workplace safety horror stories. Who knew what and when did they know it?

Who knew the risks at the Texas City refinery, the Upper Big Branch mine, the Deepwater Horizon operation? When were they uncovered? Were they investigated as thoroughly as they ought to have been? Who made the decision that these risks were somehow acceptable? Why didn’t others speak up?

It has been said people are resistant to seeing the truth if it runs counter to what they have an economic stake in.

I’m sorry, but I don’t believe people are blind when there is money involved. You can’t be blind and manage huge sums of money.

And money is at the root of most every workplace safety debacle. Resistance to spend money to correct hazards or improve maintenance. Rushing to get the thing done to save money. Cutting corners to save money.

Penn State football generates $70 million in revenue, $50 million in profit. Success in football has put the school on the map. Donations from JoePa built the school library. Home games are played in one of the most massive stadiums in the country. Alumni love a winner and alumni dollars roll in. Big-time football has created a reputation for the university that attracts students (122,000 freshman applications this year) and faculty nationwide.

The core of that reputation or brand, as articulated for more than 40 years by Paterno, is to be successful athletically, economically prosperous, and as ethically clean as a Disneyworld street.

So who is going take down this Magic Kingdom in the middle of Pennsylvania that has been 50 years in the making? A county district attorney declined to pursue one of the abuse allegations several years ago, mysteriously disappeared in 2005, and was declared legally dead in July of this year. A temporary janitor observed one shower room incident, told other janitors, but never made a report to police. Penn State’s athletic director was told of an incident and did not file a police report. The school’s president has been fired for, in effect, trying to hide the ticking time bomb to protect the brand. Several other officials have been put on leave. State College, home to Penn State, is a small, rural town. It’s been said a powerful football coach knows everything that happens in town. So does his staff. Even the janitors knew something was very wrong.

I don’t see any kind of willful blindness. No one was blind to the money machine that is Penn State football. They knew the value of Penn State’s clean image. Officials knew of the allegations surrounding Sandusky going back to 1998 at least and the risk posed by keeping Sandusky around “with privileges.”

Complacent? Yes. Greedy? Yes. Reckless? Yes. Blind, willfully blind? No. Penn State officials knew what they were trying to protect. They knew they were delaying, hemming and hawing, not alerting authorities, not filing reports, downplaying allegations when they did surface. They willfully decided to take a huge risk in not getting caught. Just like in so many workplace disasters. There was no ignorance. People thought they could get away with a risk and it blew up in their face.

Sorry, Mitt, corporations are not people

Last August while trolling for votes at the Iowa State Farm, Republican presidential candidate Mitt Romney created a media stir when, egged on by an irate protestor, said, “Corporations are people, my friend.” After someone yelled, “No they’re not,” Romney went on: “Of course they are. Everything corporations ultimately earn goes to people. Where do you think it goes?”

Let’s put aside the issue of which “people” benefit most from corporate earnings, and the Grand Canyon-size gap between what executives are paid versus the average worker.

It’s been said forever that safety is all about people. Many if not most safety and health pros are drawn to their positions because of their feelings for people; their innate desire not see people hurt or killed on the job.

This often makes the safety and health pro something of a misfit in corporations. Because most employees in the corporation, most senior leaders, don’t share this level of caring and concern. Especially when it involves sizeable investments. So often the safety and health person becomes “the conscience of the corporation.”

If a corporation was a person, it would have its own conscience. It would have, either in its DNA or through parenting and schooling, some sense of right and wrong. But corporations are not biological, obviously. Some CEOs do have a conscience for safety, for sustainability, for a sense of corporate responsibility. But CEOs are agents for the corporation. Agents with agendas, emotions, perspectives, values, ambitions. These very human characteristics steer the corporation.

As such, sustainability and social responsibility often become “directional” tactics, not values. Marketing and communications departments get involved to make the corporation more appealing, more reputable and responsible to customers, stock analysts, investors, regulators, their own employees.

There is nothing wrong with tactics of self-interest if they benefit the safety and health of the employees, the environment, and the communities in which corporations operate. Let’s have more of it.

But don’t mistake that self-interest as coming from a living, breathing corporation. As the late economist Milton Friedman said, “The social responsibility of business is to increase its profits. In a 1970 article in “The New York Times Magazine,” Friedman said, “Only people can have responsibilities. A corporation is an artificial person and in this sense may have artificial responsibilities, but ‘business’ as a whole cannot be said to have responsibilities…”

No calls, no texting behind the wheel? I’ll go out of business!

Wait a minute.

You’re telling me, no calls, no texting, no email behind the wheel! No hands-free headset even? Then what was the point of those things?

I’m going to go out of business. Who is dictating my demise?

The National Transportation Safety Board? On December 13?

There goes Washington. Again. Issuing regs that shut down businesses. Damn.

What that’s? This is only a recommendation? The NTSB wants all 50 states to ban the use of any type of personal electronic device while driving, a nationwide ban, is that right?

Those DC bureaucrats are chained to their cubicles, you know, so they can’t wander around in the real world. I swear. They are so cut off from reality. They don’t get it. In the 21st century your car is your office, or one of your offices.

Listen, I’m on the road selling every week. I’m in the car every day, for hours and hours. Now if NTSB gets its way I won’t be able to call or text or email my office, my customers, my boss all those hours I’m in a car. Talk about lost productivity, there goes my productivity, out the damn car window.

Hell, no call, no text, no email… I will not know what’s going on in the world, or at least in my business world. No emails? I’m lost. Doomed. You cannot live without email.

What’s that? More than 3,000 people lost their lives in distraction-related accidents last year, eh? In one case a pickup driver who caused two school buses to crash had sent and received 11 text messages in the 11 minutes before the crash, is that so?

Well, still, this is classic, world-class regulatory overkill. Those bureaucrats in DC, what do they know? They all commute to work on the Metro. Let’s see them hump the interstates like I do all week selling for a living and do without any calling or texting or emailing. How do I confirm appointments? Schedule calls? Check my messages? Change flights? Talk to my team? Say goodnight to my kids? I am supposed to drive 4-5-6 hours a day and just stare out the window, talking to myself. I’ll go nuts. Driving for hours thinking about the business I’m losing. Dammit, this is even interfering with my parenting. I always call my kids before they go to bed.

There goes Washington, sticking its nose in places it shouldn’t be sniffing.

What’s that you say? Research shows about half of American drivers between 21 and 24 say they have thumbed messages or emailed from the driver's seat. Yeah, that’s easy to believe. Texting is mostly a kid thing, teenagers. Mostly a social thing. Washington doesn’t get it.

What’s that? At any given moment last year nearly one in every 100 drivers was texting, emailing, surfing the Web or otherwise using a hand-held electronic device, and that number is up by 50 percent from the year before? Listen, I’ll be honest with you, I squirm a little when I’m a passenger in a car and the driver is texting or on the phone. I do feel unsafe.

In fact, I can’t stand being in the car with one of my kids driving and texting, so I won’t allow it. Yeah, I ban it. But that’s family. I’ve got to do what I’ve got to do to make a living. Which means call, text and email from the road.

See, I trust my own driving abilities. I’m not worried at all about myself behind the wheel. Hell, I just about live behind the wheel.

This calls for drastic resistance. I’m going to organize a protest. What the hell, everyone is protesting about something these days. A bunch of my sales buddies will drive to Washington. Remember when truckers did this years ago to make their point? We’ll have hundreds, maybe thousands of sales reps in car rentals, all silver, cruising up and down and around the Mall. Can you picture it?

Then, this is the kicker. We’ll show the regulators distracted driving. Guys will be driving and eating Subway subs, with lettuce and mayo falling all over ‘em. Guys will be driving and reading maps. “Damn those tiny highway numbers, says the Baby Boomer with bad eyes. Guys will be leaning in, squinting at a GPS, reading the sports page, turned around to the back seat trying to find a CD. They be driving and blasting CDs, Ozzy Osbourne, yeah, Metallica, heavy metal, distracting as hell. We’ll put two reps in the same car and have them shout and scream at each other in a fight. Reps have been arguing in cars for 100 years.

One time I was making calls with another rep on election day. We got into a huge fight about who should be president. The rep driving got so caught up, so upset in not being able to “sell me” his candidate, at one piont he stopped the car with a jerk and said, “You’ve got me so steamed I’m completely lost. Do you know where we are?”

Nothing electronic about that at all.

So what are the feds going to do? Ban eating in cars? Ban CD playing? Limit the number of passengers? No infants, they’re damn distracting, that wouldn’t be a bad rule. No political or religious debates. I can live with that. No fiddling with the radio? Ban back-seat driving? That’s one good thing that could come out of this travesty.

Look, I understand the danger of distracted driving to kids. And this kind of electronic ban should apply to anyone under 21. Like drinking.

But working adults. You can’t throw us back to the 1950s. Just wait til you see thousands of silver rentals clogging up the Mall and scaring everyone with perfectly legal distracted driving. Then what will the feds say?

The persistent mental health stigma

One by one they disappeared into the dark house. All curtains and blinds were drawn. The house looked like a bulky shadow in the night. They were careful to time their arrivals. No clustering or crowds that would attract attention. Every few minutes another figure would knock and enter silently. Many wore hoodies, scarves and hats so their faces were concealed. They seemed nervous, edgy, walking to the house, looking around as though someone might be following them.

Inside, down in the basement, a circle of folding chairs was set up around a small table with white candles lit on it. Kind of like a church meeting.

The candlelight revealed the visitors to be adults of all ages. All appeared to be on their way home from work. There were a few secretaries. A car mechanic. Couple of warehouse guys. Then there were men in suits, executive looking. And women in smart pants suits. There was even a cop and a fireman. A teacher. Maybe two. And a nurse and a physician.

“OK,” said the hostess, a pleasant looking woman in her 50s. She looked like she had just come from work. “Everyone feel safe? No one followed you, right? That’s why we change the meeting address every week. Hard to find a moving target, you know.”

Everyone took their seats, settling into their chairs. Some had water bottles. Others brought coffee.

“Did everyone have a chance this week to read the material?” asked the hostess. Turns out hosts and hostesses rotate with every new meeting place.

Heads nodded.

“So… let’s hear it. What do you think of this report, ‘Sick on the job? Myths and Realities about Mental Health at Work’?”

There is uncomfortable silence. No one seems to want to break the ice. Numerous faces stare at the tile floor.

“Well,” one man finally spoke up. “This Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development, that wrote the report, is based in Paris. I don’t take comfort in that. The Europeans have always been far ahead of the U.S. when it comes to facing up to mental health issues. I don’t think this report, important as it is, will have any impact whatsoever on U.S. businesses.”

“There is a lot of truth in the report,” said a woman. “One in five workers suffer from a mental illness, such as depression or anxiety, and many are struggling to cope. We can all relate. It is a struggle.”

“And it’s definitely true,” said a young man, “most people with mental health disorders do work. It’s not like we’re trying to be lazy.”

“When I’m anxious or depressed, sure, my productivity goes down,” said the mechanic. “I try to hide it best I can.”

“Sometimes I can’t get out of bed in the morning,” said one of the men in suits and ties. “I hate it, but I call in sick. That report is right, workers with mental health disorders are of course more likely to have more absences.”

“It just so tough to file a disability claim for anxiety or depression or burn out,” said one of the secretaries. “I tried it once years ago and got rejected. Even with my physician’s notes on my medical history. Insurance claimed that since I was not 100% incapacitated by my illness, that I could get up and get around and still do my job, I was not truly disabled.”

“The best I could do was get a month’s unpaid leave from my boss,” said a woman. “When I came back, he said, ‘Now I just want you to promise me this will never happen again.’ What could I say? He had me. As you all know, one of the real frustrations with depression and anxiety is it is unpredictable. You don’t know how you’re going to feel next week, or tomorrow. Some days I have energy, some days I’m really struggling. But I told my boss, “Yeah, this won’t happen again.” And I’m thinking to myself: It won’t happen on this job again because if it does, I’m out of here. They won’t put up with me.”

“That’s why I do everything I can to cover up my depression,” said one of the warehouse guys. “Once they find you out, they never look at you the same way. You are on permanent probation. They don’t trust you, no matter how many excellent performance reviews you’ve had. The stigma, I think it’s worse than being an alcoholic, a gambler, an adulterer. Those things are more out in the open. Hell, look at ‘Mad Men.’ All of that was OK in the office. Boys will be boys.

“But have a panic attack and have to hide in a bathroom stall, well, big boys don’t cry, you know,” said another man. When that has happened to me I wish I was a woman with a make-up kit.”

The tight circle of work-weary men and women laughed or smiled.

“I’ve used my company’s EAP,” said a woman. “They put me in touch with some good people. It helped. But you know, I do wonder about privacy. There just doesn’t seem to be privacy anywhere anymore. IT from HQ 600 miles away can get crawl all around my computer and emails. So I wonder. If I do use the EAP 800 number, you mean no one but no one in my company knows anything about it? I’m not sure about that firewall.”

“Well, it’s good to talk like this,” said the host. “At least here we can be ourselves, be out in the open. See and hear how others deal with working with mental health issues.

“You mean our stealth tactics,” said a young man.

“Our evasion tactics,” said another.

“You got to protect your livelihood,” said the cop. That report from France says people with a mental disorder are two to three times as likely to be unemployed as people with no disorders. I believe it, and I can’t afford to lose my job, not in this economy. So I go underground.”

“Or stay in the closet,” grinned another man.

“That’s why the report says almost 50% of those with a severe mental disorder and over 70% of those with a moderate mental disorder do not receive any treatment for their illness. It’s too much of a risk. You never know how people will react. Badly, mostly.”

“Well, our situation will never get better unless it’s discussed out in the open much, much more than it is today,” said a woman. “Most common mental disorders can get better, we all know that, and employment chances can be improved with the right treatment. But health systems just focus on treating people with severe disorders, like schizophrenia, who make up only one-fourth of sufferers. Employers need to know there are all different levels and degrees of mental health disorders. We’re not all bound for the asylum.”

The group got a chuckle out of that.