SINGAPORE: At the age of 44, Lorbert Tay is well built and athletic, with photos in his office displaying his achievements in international triathlons.
So it is hard to imagine him as a pre-school teacher.
AdvertisementAdvertisementBut for every photo of him competing in a triathlon or posing with a medal, there are others which showcase his love for children and passion for shaping young minds.
In one, he is taking a group of children on a hike, all of them clad in multicoloured ponchos. In another, he is in a supermarket, holding a fish and letting the children touch it.
It is clear that he is in his element when he is with the children. And likewise for them.
Screams of “Teacher Lorbert!” fill the air as he makes his rounds in the pre-school. They run to him with brightened faces, some of them try to clamber onto his back while others reach for him, looking for a hug.
AdvertisementAdvertisementA boy pulls a face at him. Tay grins and reciprocates, earning a giggle. Some children, he says later, even call him ‘Papa’ or ‘Daddy’.
Tay, a centre manager at pre-school chain Carpe Diem, is one of about 150 male pre-school educators in Singapore. This makes up fewer than 1 per cent of the total pool of early childhood educators.
HALF THE CLASS WANTED TO WITHDRAW
As a man in a female-dominated environment and working with young children on a daily basis, Tay is well aware that his presence can raise parents’ suspicions.
He remembers the first time he took a class on his own as a full teacher. It was 2010, and he was working for PCF Sparkletots, Singapore’s largest pre-school operator.
“A lot of parents were very skeptical … What’s this guy doing here?” he says. “Their imagination went wild, and they thought I was some kind of weirdo or sicko, coming into the industry and trying to be a predator.
“The following day, I heard from my principal … Half the class wanted to withdraw.”
It was a sad moment for him, he says. But he also remembers his principal encouraging him not to give up, and convincing the parents to give him a chance.
His first year in the industry was the toughest. “Parents were worried, so every small thing … even if it was a scratch or mosquito bite, was my fault,” he recounts. “I had to explain what my intentions were, from the start to the end, and build trust with them.”
He made an effort to think of novel ways to engage the children and help them learn.
“There were sleepless nights,” he says. “I felt as if I needed to work extra hard to prove myself, so I dug up all the different YouTube videos to look for interesting things that I didn’t really see other teachers doing.
“For the rest of the year, I had a lot of fun with the children, so much so that they didn’t want to end the day. By the end of the year, even the parents in the other classes wanted to ask for a transfer to my class.”
ALLAYING PARENTS’ CONCERNS
Today, Tay is careful to make sure that nothing he does can be misconstrued by a parent.
As a male educator, he does not do routine care, such as showering the children or changing their diapers. He also has several unspoken rules, for example not entering the children’s bathroom unless necessary, so that he does not see a child in a state of undress.
He also limits his physical contact with the children, and over the years has developed guidelines for himself and any male teacher who might join the centre. For example, he uses only one arm to hug the children — and that hug is limited to a pat on the back.
When he first joined the sector, he did not have specific guidelines setting out what he could or could not do as a male educator. He decided to develop his own to not only protect the children, but also himself.
“I was very stressed,” he says. “I had to watch over my back to make sure that I didn’t do things that parents would feel awkward or upset about.”
He remembers once, early in his career, when he forgot himself and gave a child a full-on hug. “When I turned around, the parent was staring at me like a hawk,” he recalls. “That’s when I realised … oh no, I made the mistake I told myself not to do.”
To parents such as Elise Cheng, whose youngest daughter attends Lorbert’s centre, it is clear that Lorbert makes extra effort to minimise contact when he is with the children.
“With two girls, I will always have this fear of physical contact,” she said. “We’ll always be worried about paedophiles or predators … especially when you read the news about people waiting outside schools to prey on the girls.
“But over time, when I saw (Lorbert) work, my trust increased, and now I’m very comfortable with him being with my two girls.”
Adhering to his guidelines can be challenging, and even sad at times. But Lorbert knows there are lines he cannot cross.
“I know that as much as I want to pour my love out to them, I have to control myself.”
HIRED ON THE SPOT
Even amidst the challenges Lorbert faced over the years, he persevered, because he had always known he wanted to teach.
Following graduation from university with a degree in IT, he had tried different industries - from IT, to operations and sales - but even as he tried out different jobs, he would without fail apply to join the Ministry of Education (MOE) as a primary school teacher.
“My friends believed I have a gift to touch the hearts of children,” he said. “Because they noticed that even with their children, who did not socialise well with strangers, would simply enjoy my company even when they saw me for the first time.”
For ten years, he did not receive a response. But the chance to live his dream came in 2009, when he came across a PCF booth at a job fair.
“There was this man standing there who asked me if I was interested in becoming a pre-school teacher,” he said. “I told him I wanted to mould and shape (children’s) characters, and the best time to do it is when they are young.”
The two continued talking. And suddenly, the man told him: “You’re hired.”
“I hadn’t even brought my certificates or anything, and I didn’t even apply for the job proper,” Lorbert said, chuckling. He later found out that the man he had met was the head of PCF.
“The funny thing was, after I accepted the job, MOE called me back,” he added.
He joined PCF in 2010, juggling his work in the centre while studying for a diploma in early childhood education. Despite the 50 per cent pay cut he had taken to join the sector, as well as the hard work and challenges he faced along the way, he was happy.
Today, Lorbert has worked his way up in the sector, joining various different operators before taking on the role at Carpe Diem. As centre manager, he takes on a more administrative role, making sure the centre runs smoothly.
But he still enjoys the time he has with the children, and makes it a point to greet them by name every morning.
“I noticed that if they’re happy when they come in, they’ll be happy throughout the day,” he explained. “They appreciate these small gestures like greeting them by name, and they’ll feel happy, and proud.”
NOT THEIR FIRST CHOICE
Male teachers in the early childhood sector are, according to ECDA, valued as they can “help to bring different strengths and perspectives to the sector.” But over the past three years, the proportion of male pre-school educators in the workforce has remained at less than 1 per cent.
“Some pre-school educators have shared that there may be a perception that the pre-school sector is more suited to women, and this may deter potential men from joining the sector,” said ECDA in an email response to CNA.
As a teenager, 25-year-old Muhammad Hadi Kamal had always wanted to join the sector. But when he entered Temasek Polytechnic in 2010 to do his early childhood diploma course, he realised that he was a “rose among the thorns”: Out of the 60-odd students in the course, only five were male. And of the five, three of them were only in the course because they could not get into their first choice course, which was psychology.
“In early childhood, there are overlaps with psychology,” said Hadi, who is now a pre-school teacher with NTUC First Campus – My First Skool. “As male students, we’re really the centre of attention because it’s not common for men to choose early childhood as their first choice.”
Darius Ng, a 23-year-old pre-school teacher with NTUC First Campus – Little Skool-House, had also initially wanted to do psychology in polytechnic, but ended up in early childhood because his O-Level results did not make the cut.
But he has, he said, since fallen in love with the job.
Interest aside, Hadi also recalls it being difficult for him to find pre-schools willing to take him on after graduation. He said that while pre-schools were “very welcoming” in at least inviting his female batchmates down for a centre tour or interview, 8 out of 10 times, he received no response to his job applications.
“There was even one centre who told me that they don’t accept male teachers at all,” he said. “I was taken aback.”
But today, Hadi is confident that the situation on the ground has improved for male teachers like himself.
“The mindset has changed within the centres,” he said. “A lot of centres are taking in male teachers, especially those who are making a mid-career switch.”
According to ECDA, the proportion of men entering pre-employment training early childhood diploma courses has doubled from about 4 per cent in 2014 to 8 per cent in 2017, and remained stable in 2018. Pre-employment training refers to courses meant for full-time students.
PCF Sparkletots and NTUC First Campus – both government-appointed anchor operators - told CNA that male educators are welcome in their centres.
“The feedback from parents and fellow educators at PCF Sparkletots has been positive so far, as the presence of male pre-school educators contribute to gender balance in the classroom and enable children to be exposed to positive male role models from a young age,” said PCF in an email response to CNA.
As for guidelines, ECDA said that the Early Childhood Development Centres regulations do not prescribe duties that male educators should or should not perform. But pre-schools, it added, may develop their own guidelines on the specific duties to be covered by different groups of staff.
Hadi and Darius both also noted that gender-specific dos and don’ts were made clear to them in their various centres.
And while Darius stressed the importance of building trust with parents, he also does not recall having any negative experiences ever since he joined the sector.
“There was one parent of twin girls who asked my principal if I would be bringing her daughters to the toilet, but I think she just needed the assurance that I wouldn’t be doing routine care,” he said.
“Apart from that, most parents just approach me with a smile and tell me that I’m rare.”
In fact, he jokes that he’s a “catalyst for change” in his centre: Not only did the athletic 23-year-old bring his charges out to jog on a running track, he also got his female colleagues to join in.
“It’s really fun when they run on the 400 metre track and then they start chasing after me,” he said.
MAKING A DIFFERENCE
It is mealtime at Carpe Diem, and the centre is filled with the clatter of spoons and clamour of children as they eat their pumpkin cake. Lorbert is in the thick of the action, seated on one of the child-sized chairs helping the teachers spoon food into the children’s mouths.
“I usually come over to destress,” he said, as he tries to cajole a child to open her mouth. “Feeding the young ones is actually very therapeutic.”
“Papa!” squeaks a child from across the table.
“Someone has called me,” he said with a wistful smile. “The whole class … they are all my children.”
It is a sad irony, because for Lorbert, instilling values and shaping the lives of the children under his care is the closest thing he can come to being a real father: He is unable to have any children of his own.
Lorbert explained that after a few years of trying for a child with his wife, they found out that she had developed a cancer in her womb. In 2014, the couple made the difficult decision to remove the womb in order to stop the cancer from spreading.
His wife broke down when she heard the news, Lorbert recalled. He was sad himself, but kept his emotions in check because he didn’t want to upset her further.
“She knew how much I wanted to have my own children, but I had to show her that it’s okay,” he said. “Her health is more important.”
But even though he works with children all day, Lorbert has made his peace, and says he is content with the role he plays in the lives of the children.
“(My time with them) starts at 18 months, till they are six years old. That’s a very long time,” he said. “So from seeing them grow from crying babies to mature boys and girls ready for primary school … that’s the biggest satisfaction I get.”
Because he knows that he has made a difference in their lives.
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