For those whose thoughts adorn the pages of this journal, and for those who read them, my father’s passing and his remembrance may seem to be those of an outsider, of one whose life and death were simply matters having to do with the personal troubles of the editor of this journal. Yet, the very existence and continuity of this journal, for what it is worth, would really not have been possible without the life, the toils, and the joys and sorrows of this good man whose proud son I was. So, let’s cherish more of the voices from our classrooms made possible by this, our common father, voices of those who have had the courage to move beyond insider/outsider dualisms dividing our common lives. “Other” is a product of false imagination, for we all are insiders, mirroring one another back and forth. And in this continual reciprocity, as Morrie Schwartz said, love always wins; and if it has not yet, it may perhaps be because the game is not still over.