‘My Childhood in Pieces’

Who says you can’t go home again?

In Edward Hirsch’s new memoir, My Childhood in Pieces: A Stand-Up Comedy, A Skokie Elegy, the award-winning poet revisits his childhood in a series of “bits,” vignettes and era-defining literary snapshots, each with a title, a snappy set-up and often a surprising turn.

For area residents of a certain age, the book has a decided nostalgic pull. Devoted readers of Hirsch’s poetry will meet the vividly drawn colorful characters, including his gambler father and quick-witted mother, who shaped the writer’s voice. But you don’t have to be from Skokie to appreciate it.

Hirsch spoke with Jewish Chicago about the inspiration behind his memoir.

Q: At one point, you talk about taking a last look at your bedroom before leaving your childhood home. You write, “All my thoughts were crammed into that room, all my feelings. I would have to come back to collect them later.” Why collect them now?

A: My mother died when I was 69. I mourned for a year. Then, the pandemic hit, and I had more time for reflection. I began to realize that when she died, the whole world that she was part of had died with her. So, I began to write down things that she said, my father said, my grandmother said. The very first thing I wrote down was from when I was eight years old, and I said to my mother, “You really shouldn’t make fun of me, you’re my mother.” She said, “Don’t be so sure, kid.”

An interesting bit in the book is unpacking the folksong, “Little Boxes.”

Malvina Reynolds wrote it. I was older when I heard her version, and it struck me differently (than the more popular Pete Seeger version I heard when I was younger). I totally agreed about the houses made of ticky-tacky and looking just the same, but the people I knew weren’t living cookie cutter lives; they were much weirder. My people weren’t doctors or lawyers. They were salespeople and they were all hustling. And then I read about how she wrote the song after driving through a subdivision in California. That’s what inspired my line that living in a place is different than driving through it.

The bits in the book seem like puzzle pieces. Now that you’ve assembled them, what does the puzzle look like to you?

That’s a good way to put it. I finally found a way to put all the pieces together, so it adds up to something that makes sense to me.

What kind of response is the book getting from family, friends, and Skokie residents?

This is the most entertaining part of publishing the book. People are reading it right away and their main comments are, “Why didn’t you mention Sam & Hy’s?” People who are not from Skokie tell me they are being catapulted back to their own childhoods. That part has been very gratifying to me.

From the specific comes the universal.

That’s what we hope for.

Donald Liebenson is a Chicago writer who writes for VanityFair.com, LA Times, Chicago Tribune, and other outlets.