Few books affect my professional life, but Out of My Mind, by Sharon M. Draper, changed my thoughts on inclusive reading and teaching. In the story, Melody is a wheelchair-bound student frustrated by her inability to express herself. When the “world” discovers what Melody is thinking, through an electronic device, the “world” changes. Draper tells the story from Melody’s point of view, challenging (or reminding) every reader to look at life through a different lens.

I did, as did a paraprofessional I work with, Nicole, after she read the book. Nicole works in our school’s version of room “H5.” She worked in my class supporting a student with autism in the afternoon. During the morning, Nicole worked with Diane in H5, also wheelchair-bound, and with no speaking capacity. She’s a fifth grader by age but a preschooler in size. She communicates through a few hand gestures to signal emotions, such as “I’m happy” or “That’s funny,” when not sticking her tongue out at people or untying shoes for attention.

Once, on my regular visits to H5, I noticed Diane sitting on the floor, part of her physical therapy routine. I wondered, If she has to sit up for physical therapy, why couldn’t she sit with our class during a read-aloud so she could have, at least, exposure to reading and interaction with mainstream peers?

Nicole and I put our heads together about what prevents Diane from listening to and thinking about a story. After a discussion with our H5 staff, Nicole began bringing Diane into class for read-alouds, a modest inclusionary step.

When Diane began reading with us, she remained in her wheelchair, which we thought would be inconspicuous. Diane proved us wrong, immediately! Right in the middle of a humorous part, some of the kids giggled, but Diane broke out in a deep laugh. Perhaps she laughed because of the content, perhaps she laughed at the way I read. Neither Nicole, nor me, nor the class, realized she had the capacity to show such expression, let alone over reading a book! (At the time, we were reading Rump by Liesl Shurtliff.) We were awestruck. Reading and listening had that much power? As Diane enjoyed the reading more, the whole class seemed to take deeper interest in the read-aloud.

In time, we started integrating Diane’s physical therapy into our read-aloud by having her join us on the carpet in our reading area. The class sat along the perimeter; Diane sat in the center with a few kiddos around to embrace her as part of the class. This took time and more books (cue Lester Laminack). Diane slapped legs, untied shoes, and “blurted out.” None of us could contain our laughter! Then Diane would laugh and repeat her actions. She would rub her belly or tap her shoulders, an indication of her pleasure. (Of course she was pleased—she’d become the center of attention!)

Nothing humbled me, Nicole, or the students more than Diane’s expression of thanks. Normally, Nicole picked up Diane and placed her back in her wheelchair. However, in assisting Nicole one day in light of her pregnancy, I picked up Diane. I placed her on my hip, like a toddler. Diane threw her arms around my shoulders and laid her head on my shoulder, which startled me. Then, suddenly, she picked her head up and kissed me on the cheek. After I placed Diane in her wheel chair and put on her seatbelt, Diane again gestured how happy she was. I didn’t think a read-aloud would make that much of a difference. Instead, our read-aloud gave Diane a reason to be happy.

Nicole and I knew we made the right choice.

The pièce de résistance came to pass during the waning days of school on RIF (Reading is Fundamental) Day. I strolled Diane out of H5 and assigned a student to read with her. The student read aloud tentatively, as two others scooched in to share the limelight. Nicole ended up reading, with Diane’s eyes transfixed, intensely listening. Within moments, more kids migrated towards Diane with RIF books. Soon, the entire class enveloped Diane as Nicole read aloud without prompting. Total participation. Total acceptance. Staff from H5, the RIF volunteers, and I observed this phenomenon unfold.

Afterward, beyond excited, several students demonstrated a new hand gesture Diane taught them to indicate she wanted a book read to her (rubbing her hands together and opening them, like releasing a dove). The kids felt the blessing of speaking their peers’ enchanting language—communicating with one another about reading.

This year, our reading workshop will be revolutionized by Diane’s full inclusion! Like last year, Diane will join us for read-aloud. In our sharing circles, classmates will be responsible for her well-being and “on-task behavior.” (This means Diane can’t take her shoes off to entertain the class.) Every day, Diane will be assigned a new partner for independent reading. The pair will read picture books (fairy tales and myths) that allow the reader to explain to Diane what the text means and how pictures relate to text. After all, Diane is entitled to the gift and pleasure of reading.

Diane will never know the same freedom we have or hope for all of our readers; it’s unlikely she will ever be able to take on reading alone. Instead, Diane and her peers can share in the gift of reading and the emotional and spiritual gift of sharing time and space together. She enhances our class all together, not because of her disability, but because we learn to enjoy her membership in class and experience the value of reading. This year, we shared in her joy and passion for reading, one that we desire for all readers.

Reading provides a lens to see the world in color. Diane may not speak, but she can think. Through reading, she gets to learn about struggles characters face, compassion, ethical decisions, and love. Diane is able to be a part of a reading community. What we learned about Diane is that she sees the world in color and she learns just like you and I.

I encourage you to consider who you can invite into your daily read-alouds. If books bring the world to us or allow us to escape to another world, shouldn’t every child be allowed this opportunity? Nicole and I will never know what the reading does biologically for Diane. What we do know is how immensely happy she is to be in our classrooms listening, laughing, and learning with her peers and fellow readers.

Justin Stygles is a sixth-grade language arts teacher and IRA Advisory Committee of Teachers (ACT) committee member based in Norway, ME. He also serves as the state’s Maine Reading Association coordinator.