Sarah Sasiak remembers how painful it once was to watch her now 18-year-old son Tanner in elementary school chorus concerts.
Tanner, who is on the autism spectrum, has communication challenges that can make it hard for him to be understood—or be part of a choral ensemble.
“He would just stand there with all these other kids around him, singing,” Sasiak said. “He couldn’t even get the words out,” because of language processing difficulties.
As he grew, Tanner longed to participate in the kinds of activities his three neurotypical siblings do.
But for years, his options for engagement and socialization were limited. Then, in 2022, Morris-Union Juncture Commission, the specialized school district Tanner attends, created an esports arena geared specifically to students with significant cognitive challenges, particularly Autism Spectrum Disorder.
The room looks like a cross between a computer lab and a high-tech gym. It is filled with large monitors appropriate for gaming, but also special consoles that can accommodate players with fine-motor differences and other challenges.
The specialized arena, which its architects think is the first in the country to be housed in a school district, is the brainchild of Evan Abramson, Morris-Union Juncture Commission’s director of technology and innovation. It is emblematic of Abramson’s creative, student-focused approach to harnessing technology to help students with significant cognitive and behavioral challenges thrive.
In addition to dreaming up the arena, Abramson, a 2025 EdWeek Leaders To Learn From honoree, has become a go-to expert in New Jersey for using artificial intelligence in the classroom, particularly for students in special education. He’s the kind of hands-on tech director teachers can rely on to explain cutting-edge tools from a practical, classroom-focused perspective.
It takes a special kind of tech leader to understand how to marry the “wires and pliers” aspects of the job with teaching and learning—all while helping teachers embrace, not fear, technological transformation, said Janet Fike, Morris-Union Juncture Commission’s superintendent.
“I think he is a visionary,” Fike said of Abramson. “I think he has a lot of energy for new things. And when things don’t work out, he can accept that and go to Plan B.”
She praised Abramson’s communication skills and ability to navigate the political minefields that inevitably accompany district leadership: “He can talk to anyone about anything. As a leader, you have to [meet] people where they are and give them what they need. And I think he does that very well.”
‘Doing everything you can to make them feel normal’
Though his mother was a teacher, Abramson, 47, didn’t set out to follow in her footsteps. A talented baseball player, he attended college in south Florida on a sports scholarship. While there, he interned for the St. Louis Cardinals and prepared for a career in sports management.
Abramson put those plans on hold when a difficult family situation drew him back to New Jersey. To earn money, he started teaching at a Catholic school, eventually making his way to public schools around the Garden State. He taught physical education and even led a class combining physical education and math before becoming a tech coach, then tech director.
In early 2021, while leading technology work at Millburn Township schools in central New Jersey, Abramson saw the job description for a newly created tech director position at Morris-Union Juncture Commission, a nearby district with an unusual structure and mission. The district’s board consists of leaders from 30 Garden State districts. It provides their schools with expertise on serving students in special education.
Morris-Union Juncture Commission also directly serves around 225 students with cognitive and/or behavioral challenges that their home districts don’t have the expertise to address. Some attend school in Morris-Union Juncture for just a year or two before heading back to their own districts. Others spend most of their educational careers at Morris-Union Juncture Commission, which serves students up to age 21.
The more Abramson considered the position, the more he felt personally drawn to it. His mother and aunt had taught special education. His own son was born premature and later developed a malformed eardrum and other physical problems that inhibited his hearing.
After multiple surgeries, his son, now 13, has regained most of his ability to hear, and is a general education student. But for years, he wore hearing aids and had an Individualized Education Program to support his needs, Abramson said.
“A lot of the passion for what I do now certainly came because of him,” Abramson said. As a special education parent or educator, “you’re trying to do everything right, everything you can to make sure they feel normal.”
‘This esports thing is pretty legit’
Abramson’s son also inspired the esports arena. When he turned 10, the boy begged his parents to be allowed to play Fortnite, a popular online video game. Abramson relented, though he didn’t love the idea of his kid staring at a screen, steering his way through violent scenarios.
But Abramson was surprised by what he saw as he watched his son and his friends play.
“It was pretty incredible, because I was hearing all the conversations that I had always felt he would have on the football field or the basketball court,” Abramson recalled. “They were empathetic. They were critically thinking. They were problem solving. They were doing all these things that we want our kids to do. And I was like, ‘this esports thing is pretty legit.’ ”
Not long after those gaming sessions opened Abramson’s eyes to the benefits of esports, Fike found herself with a $50,000 technology grant from a local foundation. She wanted to use it for an impactful, outside-the-box project and asked Abramson for ideas.
He told her, “We should put an esports arena in for these kids, because I have seen what it did for my own kid, who has needs,” Abramson recalled. Fike’s support was immediate and emphatic, he said. “She was like, ‘it sounds great, and it sounds innovative.’”
District officials, led by Abramson, partnered with SHI, a local tech company, to build the arena, with an assist from Logitech, a hardware manufacturing company. The district also enlisted vSEVEN, another hardware company, to provide specialized keyboards that can be run through a dishwasher, to keep the arena as germ-free as possible.
The district also got high-end, adaptable controllers from Microsoft that had already been created for competitive gamers and were appropriate for students with limited fine-motor skills, or behavioral challenges. It even built a shout-casting station—the esports version of an announcer’s desk—so students with verbal capabilities could further develop their communication skills by explaining what was happening in the games, just as a sports broadcaster might for basketball or tennis.
‘Something happened that we didn’t anticipate’
But some teachers were skeptical of the project. They thought the money would be better spent on iPads, Chromebooks, and classroom supplies. Fike believed teachers’ support for the project was key, so Abramson took them to Kean University, a nearby college with a massive esports arena. For a few hours, they all played video games together.
Within 10 minutes “they started talking trash and playing with each other and having a great time,” Abramson said.
Though the gaming session was a good start to helping teachers embrace the project, a majority of the district’s roughly 30 teachers still wondered whether the students the districts serve would be able to handle gaming.
But that started to change a few months later at a ribbon cutting ceremony for the 12-seat arena with Morris-Union Juncture families.
That’s when “something happened we didn’t anticipate,” Abramson said. As students played, some of their neurotypical siblings sat down and joined in.
Some of “the siblings had never played with each other before. They didn’t know they could play with these kids,” Abramson said. Parents’ eyes welled up. Teachers got teary too.
“We knew from that point on that we had built a bridge, that our students could feel normal, they could play with their own siblings at home,” Abramson said. “And I think for us, that was everything.”
‘They are just as deserving as everyone else.’
Time in the esports arena is used in part as a student incentive, particularly for a subset of Morris-Union Juncture students who struggle with appropriate behavior but have higher cognitive abilities.
It can be a powerful motivator for some of Marissa Zinberg’s students, 18- to 21-year-olds on the autism spectrum. She recalled how one, a particularly big technology fan “was glowing and so happy” when the arena was unveiled, she said.
To be sure, the esports arena isn’t appropriate for at least half of the district’s population due to their cognitive abilities and fine motor skills, Zinberg said.
But for those who can take advantage of it, “it was a great thing,” she said.
69ý whose learning and physical challenges aren’t considered among the most severe can “get lost sometimes, not necessarily in our district, but in a lot of districts, because they’re higher [functioning] than a lot of the special needs [students], but lower than typical kids,” Zinberg said. “To be able to give them something that they can interact with their peers, interact with their siblings, they are just as deserving as anybody else.”
The district also created a smaller space—called the Esports Training Lab— for its elementary students. It features Nintendo Switches where students can play Mario Kart or build in Minecraft, all while learning to work in teams and cheer each other on.
Morris-Union Juncture Commission has used the arena to forge connections between its older students and the broader community.
69ý have played against general education students from a neighboring district and against local police officers, who are trying to learn more about people with ASD, in part, so that they can respond to them appropriately when they encounter them in public spaces. The interaction also gave students face time with officers so that they could see them as “friendly and non-threatening” and may feel more comfortable going to them with a problem, Abramson said.
Those community connections are powerful for students in special education, said Lindsay Jones, the chief executive officer at CAST, a nonprofit education research and development organization that works to make curriculum accessible for students with disabilities.
“One of the biggest issues we have is isolation of students. That leads to anxiety, depression. And when you’re a student who is not communicating in typical ways, there’s even bigger isolation,” said Jones, who noted that there are higher rates of anxiety and depression across all disabilities.
Getting to play games with law enforcement, with general education students from nearby schools, and with their siblings helps others see students with ASD and other challenges as a “whole child, a whole person in many ways,” Jones said.“They aren’t just their disability.”
‘The first one out of the gate’ on AI
Recently, Abramson’s quest to harness cutting-edge technologies to support teaching and learning has lead him to generative artificial intelligence. He is learning how AI tools like ChatGPT and Google’s Gemini can help educators— particularly those who work with students in special education—do their jobs more efficiently.
He’s spoken to some 40 districts about the technology. His message: AI must be used with caution, but it isn’t anything to be afraid of. It can help educators brainstorm, craft lesson plans, even write emails to parents. And it has potential as an assistive technology for students in special education.
“He was the first one out of the gate,” said Melissa Signore, the superintendent of River Vale school district, a northern New Jersey district where Abramson gave AI trainings. “He’s always on what I like to call the bleeding edge, where he’s out there, trying to get in front of what’s coming so that he can prepare [educators] for what needs to be done, not only for his district,” but around the state.
It’s a significant undertaking at a time when districts around the country are racing to offer teachers training in AI. A little less than half—43 percent—of teachers said they have received at least one training session on the technology, according to a nationally representative survey of 1,135 educators—including 731 teachers—conducted last fall by the EdWeek Research Center.
That’s a nearly 50 percent increase from a survey EdWeek conducted in the spring of 2024, when 29 percent of teachers said they’d received such training—a signal that professional development on AI is in high demand.
Abramson’s PD sessions are grounded in a practical, teacher-focused point-of-view, Signore said. Abramson developed the material himself. He’s drawn on extensive research and interviews with experts and created different types for different audiences, including aimed at staff, administrators, and parents.
“Evan understands the infrastructure and the technology side, but he really understands the educational piece of it,” Signore said. “That’s a huge flip. You don’t get that combo in one human resource very often.”
Tech can engage students in special education ‘in a different way’
In addition to sharing his knowledge about AI and esports, Abramson is happy to pop into classrooms to give tech demonstration lessons, sometimes paying particular attention to individual students’ interests.
For instance, Alex, one of Zinberg’s former students, is passionate about electric cars. Abramson spent time taking him on a virtual field trip to the New York auto show, where he could see inside dozens of models and check out their interiors. The highlight: A Tesla.
“I think he’s just really tried to bring a different viewpoint to the district and really open up our eyes to technology,” Zinberg said.
She, like other teachers, has long had “the same repertoires, the same websites that I’ve used for however long they’ve existed. And all of a sudden, he’s bringing us these other concepts and ideas, which I think is just so helpful, and it really engages the kids in a different way.”
The exposure to esports has certainly been powerful for Tanner.
When he and other students are in the arena and at the controls, competing in teams, they look just like any other video-game obsessed adolescent or young adult, disability or no, the district’s staff say.
Gaming has helped Tanner “develop confidence, a sense of pride and independence,” said Sasiak. Maybe even more importantly: “It’s just a great bonding for him, with his siblings. It’s something that they can all do together.”
