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Some years ago author read a book that profoundly influenced me: Tell Them Who I Am, by Elliot Liebow1. This book was about women living in shelters for the homeless. As Liebow said in the preface: “People are homeless not because they are mentally ill, drugs users, or thieves, but because they do not have a place to live.” In addition to the influence of this book, author am so struck by our culture that refers to someone as “a schizophrenic,” rather than by that person’s name. If your aunt Tillie has cancer, you do not refer to her as “a cancer.” She is “Aunt Tillie, and she has cancer.” My son is a kind, bright man, 58 years old, who is deeply loved by his family. He makes beautiful pottery, and is a gifted musician who plays with me in a bluegrass band. He loves the wilderness and…many other things. We call him “David.” Our culture calls him “a schizophrenic.”