Forget scary movies or the end of the world — what scares almost all of us the most, by far, is getting a voicemail from a family member, telling you to call back right away because “it’s important.” My 90-year-old father did that last week, a message I got on my phone as I was walking from what had been an enlightening and productive meeting with a school superintendent. The last several months had been filled with difficult calls like this. My mother’s cancer. My stepmother’s passing. Learning that a former colleague is gravely ill.
By Michael Hinman | 2/9/24
I’ll never forget the last time I saw my stepmother, even though by then she’d already forgotten me. It was last year in the Florida hospice center Helen had lived in . . .
By Michael Hinman | 12/7/23
My parents were worried the moment I laid eyes on the apartment for the very first time. It was the entire top floor of a car dealership just off what would eventually become Interstate 86, at the edge of the Finger Lakes region upstate. This would be my first apartment — my first home outside the family home where I grew up in Pennsylvania.
By Michael Hinman | 10/26/23
It was dated June 10, 1927, written from a home no longer standing at Exchange Street in Rochester, to a young woman in Ellicottville named Lola.
By Michael Hinman | 8/10/23
He called us the “Herald Firing Squad.” That was fair, I guess. When Republican congressional candidate George Santos first visited our Garden City office last fall . . .
By Michael Hinman | 5/11/23