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One fall, when I was in elementary school, I decided to go out for my home town basketball team. My father was the coach. After a week or two of try-outs, I got cut from the team. I didn't talk to my Dad for days, and the feeling of embarrassment at school was brutal, as everyone took turns making fun of me. Of course, time brings distance and perspective, and in later years this whole upsetting "incident" turned into a funny story that we would share laughs about (after all, I was a crappy ball player, and it is kind of funny that a kid would get cut by his Dad.). But over the past few months, I've had occasion to think about that story (and many others) with fresh perspective...in a more serious light, if you will. It must have been pretty tough on him to make that decision...but also, how right and fair a decision it was. My dad knew that I'd put him through hell for it...but he also knew that it was the only right thing to do, and that it'd be far worse putting me on the team just because I was his son. That story says a lot about my Dad -- noble, fair, honest, yet also gentle, kind, and thoughtful, even with a difficult decision, when he knew things would seem so very opposite to me at the time.
Dave Daly wasn't a wanderer. Born on August 21, 1947, he lived his entire life in the DC area. Aside from a short stint in the Navy (1968-1969). some trips for work, and many enjoyable family vacations over the years, he seemed to like being rooted. And my Father had a subtle yet significant effect on the various communities that he was involved with, from his collegues at the FDA to the Berwyn Heights Men's League. A humble, team player, he was devoted to the endeavors he pursued. He always seemed to know what he liked, and the only thing that remained was to focus on spending time enjoying it. But his priorities were always perfectly focused, and our family has always remained very tightknit.
In the difficult days of last November, 2002, one of my cousins very perceptively stated a basic fact about my Father - he noted that my Dad "always lived in the moment", never wasting undue time dwelling on the past or stressing over the future, but rather sucking whatever joy could be found out of HERE and NOW. (I distinctly remember a conversation I had with my Father about bio-terrorism fears in the days following 9/11, and he just said "You know, I try not to worry about things I can't control." Whoa. Like, ok. But he meant it and he lived that philosophy.) As alluded to in the opening story, my Father was always there in my life, when I needed him and also when I just wanted to goof off. He coached all my teams, we went to movies together, he took me to play video games (in the early 1980s, that was "in"). When I grew a little older and became interested in SCUBA diving, he not only supported it, but he joined the class with me and we became dive partners (even though his tendency toward seasickness must have made our trips a bit tough at times). He was my Father, and he was my friend, and he was a great guy.
To say that the past year has been incredibly difficult would be a vast understatement. I continue to deeply miss my Father every single day, and the simplest things trigger sharp stabs of memory and pain. If much of this seems cliche, tough -- it's the truth. It's no exaggeration when I say that my Dad was the most well-rounded and decent human being I've ever met. They say "the flame that burns twice as bright burns half as long", and that is a heartwrenching truth, for Dave Daly always stood as a quiet, unassuming pillar of strength, full of 'joie de vivre', fairness, honesty, intelligence, quick wit, and good humor. He is deeply missed, and always will be.
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Dave and Skip Daly
September 2001
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