Parenthood is a Long Game

Show up and let go.

There’s something universal about new fathers - that mix of “terrified and thrilled” when they hold their child for the first time. I see it in the new and soon-to-be fathers I work with, who articulate incredibly insightful things about wanting their children to know (really know!) that they are loved and supported, that their dad will fight for them and have their back, no matter what.

My father-in-law, Jim, died yesterday. When his first son was born back in 1972, I imagine he felt that exact same mix of terror and thrill - and that same fierce desire to make sure his child knew he was loved.

Jim spent his life acting on that desire.

Jim’s childhood was not filled with warm hugs or emotional security. His father James Sr. had been set to inherit the family business, but a brother’s tragic death, Prohibition, his father’s passing, and the Great Depression left the family destitute. All that trauma and loss shaped James Sr. profoundly.

When baby Jim arrived in 1943—a miracle baby to older parents after many miscarriages—he entered a household still carrying the weight of years of hardship. From the few stories Jim shared, I gathered his childhood was marked by fear, shame, and chronic financial worry.

It must have been a lonely house for an only child.

But in spite of his childhood (or maybe because of it) Jim was an unusually engaged and loving dad.

He married his high school sweetheart, Bernadette, and went all in on fatherhood. Making lunches, helping with homework, teaching his sons different languages (he could speak four!), coaching their teams, and just being there.

When I first met Jim 28 years ago, he was most worried about David, the artist of the family, who was taking a gap year before college.

Of course, David found his way when ready - following his artistic instincts through college, recording music, working odd jobs, creating art, and eventually co-founding an award-winning film production company. His company recently won an Emmy for the documentary Patrice: The Movie - this would have made Jim so proud.

Sadly. Alzheimer’s robbed Jim of one of parenthood’s greatest joys — watching the child he worried about most prove that his path had been exactly right.

But I like to think maybe Jim did know, in the ways that matter.

Each son found their own way to channel the work ethic, curiosity, and confidence Jim modeled. Whether through academics, civil or military service, or creative entrepreneurship, they all became men who show up for their families, pursuing excellence in their own distinct ways. And Jim always made sure they knew how very proud he was of them.

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What I’ll remember most fondly is Jim’s presence - especially how he interacted with his grandchildren, bringing a childlike joy to each moment.

This kind of engaged fathering (and grandfathering) doesn’t guarantee specific outcomes, but it provides something more valuable: the deep knowledge that you are seen, supported, and worth fighting for.

For parents wondering if they’re doing enough, Jim’s family legacy offers a simple but profound answer, based on two essential questions:

1. Did you show up — intentionally and with love?

2. Did you create that unshakeable knowledge in your children (and/or grandchildren) that you loved them, believed in them, and equipped them to become whoever they were meant to be?

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In Memory

James Aloysius “Jim” Dunn (aka “Pop”)
August 31, 1943 - September 24, 2025

Jim leaves behind his beloved wife of five decades, Bernadette, his three sons Michael (Karin), Bryan (Meredith) and David (Robin), seven grandchildren (Maggie, Charlotte, Gavin, Julian, Beatrice, Juniper and Hannah), and countless friends and students whose lives he touched through decades of community involvement and teaching as a Professor of Political Science at Rutgers University, Camden. In big and little ways, Jim showed us all what it means to “show up.” We will miss you Pop.

Charlotte and Julian with their Pop.