Kathy Baker: My unfathomable father

He was tall, dark and handsome in his youth. By all accounts, he was loving, warm, dedicated to work, family and friends. A lieutenant in a big-city fire department, his name was Marty and I met him only twice, shortly before he died, when I was 25 years old and he was 63. He was my father. The mystery of my life is why Marty abandoned my mother and me (his only child) before I was born, even though he purportedly loved Mom and adored children.

After decades of processing that mystery, I found peace and closure by writing a little book a few years ago, about Marty, Mom and me, as a way to let go of the “not knowing.”