By Tyler Dahlgren

It’s a Tuesday morning in Ashley Peterson’s classroom at Aurora Elementary, and her third-graders are laser focused on the morning’s lesson. Little Karsyn Soto sits behind a corner desk and learns alongside her friends.

Fifteen minutes of observation is all it takes to see that Karsyn is right where she belongs. The other kids in the classroom are drawn to Karsyn’s corner like a magnet.

Born with a rare genetic mutation that causes severe epilepsy, a student with Karsyn’s complex medical and physical needs (she uses a specialized wheelchair and navigates significant health challenges) might spend the majority of her days in the resource room if she lived anyplace else.

At Aurora Elementary, the philosophy is different. The school doesn’t treat inclusion as some kind of buzzword, but rather a mandate. They live it, and they do so, fittingly, together.

“Karsyn is amazing, and the kids are drawn to her,” said Jessica Block, who is in her fourth year serving as Aurora Public Schools’ special education director. “She rocks when she’s excited. She vocalizes. The kids want to be her partner. They want to read to her. They want to play. She’s the person everybody knows. They know who she is and they want to be around her.”

For Karsyn, "inclusive education" doesn’t just mean she’s present in the room. No, this radiant little girl with the magic smile is an essential part of the fabric of the third grade. Her determination is infectious, and this place wouldn’t be the same without her.

“It’s important to us to give her every opportunity possible, and being in the general education classroom with her peers is where she thrives,” said Block. “She’s learning things from her peers as much as they’re learning things from her. And though she can’t always communicate how you and I communicate, she has a lot to say.”

Karsyn’s relationship with the Aurora school system didn't start in kindergarten. It began when she was just a toddler. She began receiving early intervention services when she was three. Cami Knust, a physical therapist for the district, has been working with Karsyn since she was eight months old.

“I learn something from Karsyn almost every day,” Knust said. “She’s just a happy kid. The kids love her. The staff loves her. Inclusion is something that can be learned from everyone, and it encourages collaboration between our own resource team, with our paras, our students and our entire staff.”

That long-term bond between the staff and the Soto family has created a foundation of unique trust. Because the staff has seen Karsyn through health scares, hospitalizations, and triumphs, they don’t see a diagnosis when she rolls through the door. They see Karsyn.

This history allows the team to be bold. They aren't afraid of the "medical things" or the moments of regression that occasionally come with Karsyn’s journey. Instead, they focus on moving forward. Karsyn embodies that same spirit.

“Her parents are amazing,” Block said. “Her mom (Dr. Katie Soto) is an instructional coach at ESU 9 and very knowledgeable and realistic. She told us, ‘It’s about quality of life. She’s happy with her peers, put her with her peers.’ So, while we pull her for PT, OT, and speech, she doesn't go to a resource room. We do everything in the classroom.”

In her school, Karsyn is surrounded by hundreds and hundreds of cheerleaders. She goes home to a loving family, and a mom who understands the inner workings of a school and has a deep appreciation for the care her daughter receives and the progress she makes.

“What makes Karsyn’s story so special is the extraordinary team of educators and peers who surround her,” said Katie Soto. “Her educators consistently design creative and thoughtful accommodations that allow her to learn, participate, and belong. One of my favorite moments was during her second grade music concert, where she was included on stage in a standing frame so she could perform alongside her classmates, with a peer helping her keep the rhythm on her tambourine.”

Keeping a student with Karsyn’s needs in a general education setting requires more than just good intentions. It takes wildly creative engineering. Karsyn’s team isn’t afraid to think boldly. There’s an element of fearlessness involved, and it starts with Karsyn. Her milestones are celebrated by everyone.

“I love sharing what she can do in the classroom,” said speech pathologist Bergen Carraher. “I love taking videos and sending them to her parents. And then Karsyn gets to show them what she’s up to at school, and it’s fun for her to share that excitement with them.”

Gayleen Moeller, an ESU 9 Vision Consultant, works specifically with Karsyn to bridge the gap created by Cortical Visual Impairment (CVI), a condition where the eyes and brain don’t fully coordinate. To help Karsyn read along with her classmates, Moeller creates visual book boxes.

“I have quite the treasure trove at my house,” Moeller said with a laugh. “The time I get with Karsyn is so fun. She’s just so fun. I can’t teach her how to see, but I can help her to be able to see better.”

For a story about baseball, the box contains a textured bat, a miniature glove, and the bases. These tactile objects are set against black backgrounds to help Karsyn’s brain focus. 

The innovation extends to how Karsyn interacts with her classmates. She uses a "switch,” a button she can press to activate voice-output devices. In the classroom, the switch is Karsyn’s ticket to autonomy.

“We have different devices on her app where she can choose what STEM projects she wants to do, or which classmates she wants to pick,” said Peterson. “She can call on kids for us, and the kids definitely get excited when she chooses them.”

Even the speech pathology sessions with Carraher are infused with Karsyn’s personality. Knowing Karsyn is a "Swiftie," the team uses Taylor Swift’s music and social core words to keep her engaged. Carraher humorously recalled a recent session involving a ball popper game where Karsyn, working hand-over-hand, accidentally "nailed" a teacher across the table with a foam ball.

“She popped up right away like, ‘What did I do?’” Carraher said. “It was really funny. She has feelings just like everybody else, and she isn’t afraid to let us know. Sometimes she’ll use her voice to tell us, ‘Leave me alone, I’m in my chair!’ and we celebrate that. Everyone deserves a voice.”

Perhaps the most moving aspect of Karsyn’s story isn't the technology or the specialized staff, but the twenty-some third-graders who surround her. To them, Karsyn is simply seen as a best friend.

“They love her for exactly who she is,” Peterson said. “Karsyn definitely has a soft place in each of their hearts.”

And they have a special place in hers.

“There’s a reason why she loves being in the classroom as much as she does,” said Carraher. “The kids gravitate towards her. They just love her.”

This bond is so strong that it stretches beyond the school year. When Karsyn had to come in for services over the summer, her therapists realized she missed the stimulation of her peers. They suggested recording the other children reading books so Karsyn could listen to them. The response from the other parents was immediate. 

“Why can’t we just bring the kids in?” 

They wanted to go to summer school just to be with Karsyn. Three months is a long time apart from a best friend.

Kenzie McCullick, a para educator who works closely with Karsyn, sees this magic every day at recess. Aurora is currently awaiting a new inclusive playground in town, and the students are already planning their playdates.

“They ask me every day at recess when they can go and play with her,” McCullick said. “She teaches life lessons to grown adults. She makes an impact on everyone here.”

For Principal Mark Standage, who is retiring at the end of the year after 22 years with the district, Karsyn represents the very best of Aurora Public Schools. He knows this place as well as anybody, so those words carry weight. On this Tuesday morning, Standage supervised a game of bowling pin dodgeball.

There was no way Karsyn was sitting this one out. Instead, she used a device powered by a leafblower, her switch serving as the trigger, to shoot foam balls across the gym flower. Each pin she knocked down was followed by big cheers and bigger smiles.

It was an amazing sight. Heartwarming to the core. The school also offers an adaptive physical education course. On those days, you can find Karsyn cruising on her adaptive tricycle.

Yeah, this place is pretty special, alright.

“It’s all about the people,” Standage said. “We’re so blessed to have a staff that looks out for her, but also a student body that has taken on the role of looking out for her. It’s just fun to see her smile. It’s infectious.”

The staff admits that this level of inclusion wasn't always the norm. It took a shift in perspective, moving away from the idea that inclusion is just being present to the idea that inclusion is active participation.

“Change can be hard,” Block said. “But we’ve done a great job of evolving. To be inclusive, they have to be doing similar things, working towards the same task, being a part of it versus just being a body in the room.”

When Karsyn gets excited, she rocks in her chair and her face lights up with pure joy. Those moments are the best. They’re the fuel that drives Karsyn’s team to push her, even when the goals seem lofty. 

“She’s resilient, sweet, and she brings something to school that everybody needs,” said McCullick. “She’s just constant. She comes every day ready to learn and ready to work as hard as everybody else. She does her best every day.”

Spending a couple of hours with Karsyn and her crew turned an ordinary Tuesday morning in January into something you never want to forget.

“Every day spent with Karsy is the best day ever,” McCullick said, and we found that to be true.

We say goodbye to Karsyn, and the para wheels her down the hallway. Several students smile, wave and say hello to their friend as she passes by.

The lunch bell is ringing, there’s a busy afternoon ahead, and Karsyn is right where she belongs.