Finding Mattias’ Voice: a Mother’s Love, Little Olive Tree’s Open Door

This is a story about how a mother’s love and persistence, and how Little Olive’s Tree’s Educational Support Programme, helped Mattias’ find his voice.  

On a weekday morning at Bukit Batok, the classroom runs on familiar preschool rhythms: sounds from children and their boisterous energy, phonics drills, songs, movement… At first glance, this is just another Little Olive Tree childcare centre but if you looked closely, you’ll notice the use of an iPad.  

This might sound alarm bells: you mean screen time is allowed in LOT?  

To most people, the iPad is a device that should be banned in schools.  

To Mattias, it is a way for him to speak.  

To the teachers, it means intentionally including Mattias’ and growing with him, even as he learns differently.  

To his mother, it means fiercely advocating for her son so that he will learn how to communicate, even though she at his birth was told he may never speak.  

And to the adults in his life - his mother, his early intervention teachers, his speech therapist and of course, class teachers in LOT, it is a reminder of something donors rarely get to see up close: inclusion is not one big moment. It is a lifestyle that intentionally includes different kinds of learners. 

Inclusion is a hundred small decisions, repeated patiently, encouraged daily, until a child who could not speak becomes understood. 

A mother who refused to accept silence as the end of the story 

Mattias’ mother has held one goal steadily from the beginning: she wants her son to communicate. 

Doctors had told her he might never speak; he might never even call “mama.” It was heartbreaking. But it also sparked a resolve for her to learn and find ways to help him speak. For some families, that kind of prognosis becomes a wall. For her, it became a reason to search for doors. 

She equipped herself. She sought out support through places like Society for the Physically Disabled’s (SPD) assistive technology services. She practised communication at home through everyday routines, including joint book reading, where language becomes something a child experiences, not something he is tested on. She advocated, asked questions, and persisted. 

This kind of persistence is love in action. But it also reveals something important: parent determination thrives when it meets a team that can walk with them. Families do not just need goodwill; they need partnership, guidance, and practical support systems that make inclusion a shared responsibility. This makes inclusion possible in all areas of the child’s life.  

That is where an Education Support Programme (ESP) matters most: bridging the gap between what parents are trying to do at home and what teachers can realistically carry in a busy classroom. 

“I really want to thank Little Olive Tree for opening that door.” 

If most parents in Singapore are intentional in the way they go about looking for a preschool for their child, Mattias’ mother’s focus, intention and strategy was double-fold. She knew what she was looking for: a school with teachers that not only cares for the child (which, admittedly, many preschools do) but a mainstream preschool where he gets to learn alongside peers his age AND also provided support for Mattias’ learning needs. This is why she eventually found and returned to Little Olive Tree, despite leaving for a spell to try out another preschool that promised much smaller class sizes.  

Small class sizes are desirable but being included and supported is more important to her.  

She eventually chose to travel from their place in Jurong West to the Bukit Batok centre because the team at Little Olive Tree was willing to explore the use of Augmentative and Alternative Communication (AAC) starting with low-tech options before transitioning to a high-tech device - the iPad.  

She credits Teacher Joed, Mattias’ first Educational Support Teacher in Little Olive Tree for willing to try. She also shared her appreciation for Teacher Aini (his current Educational Support Teacher), who continued to work with Mattias and his class teachers (Teacher Den and Teacher Yan) now in Bukit Batok.  

“Little Olive Tree Bukit Batok was the only school that allowed him to use the AAC device,” his mother shared. “I really want to thank Little Olive Tree and Mattias’ teachers for opening that door.”  

Her appreciation for the team soared when she later learned from her friends and Mattias’ Early Intervention Team that it is unusual for a mainstream preschool to allow and support the use of the AAC. Most preschools do not, let alone have a team that is willing to learn and try alongside families. This makes the Little Olive Tree unremarkable.  

This open door, the “yes” that allows him to bring his voice into the classroom, is the kind of door that changes a child’s life. But a door is only useful if it stays open. That means ongoing coordination, shared expectations, and adults who are supported enough to keep trying even when the process is messy. 

This is why donor support matters: it helps our doors stay open to children who need supportive environments.  

Learning a New Language Together 

Mattias’ current teachers remember the early days vividly. None of them were trained to use AAC. If your impression of the AAC is merely “using pictures to speak” or “tapping buttons on the iPad”, you are severely misguided.  

Think of using the AAC the way we use a language to communicate. Being able to speak English does not mean you can speak Malay. Learning to use the AAC is like, in very simplistic terms, like learning to speak in a new language.  

It is more than just pressing pictorial buttons (or pointing at them if you’re using low-tech AAC). It requires careful planning, choosing the right pictures to represent actions, programming the application on the iPad, having the foresight of keying in the next set of new vocabulary that will help the child “speak” etc. 

“At first I felt stressed,” Teacher Den (his English class teacher) shared. “I had no experience with AAC.”  

This sentiment was echoed by Teacher Aini and Teacher Yan (his Chinese class teacher). The AAC application on the iPad felt complicated; so many pages, many folders, many options. The teachers were learning an unfamiliar system while still managing a full class. And Mattias’ mother, understandably, was doing her best to work with the teachers on the implementation of AAC with all that she has learnt from Mattias’ speech therapist and early interventionists.  

Instead of pretending, the teachers chose honesty.  

“We told his mother straight that we didn’t have experience,” Teacher Den shared. 

Her response shaped everything that followed: being open and willing to learn. That openness turned pressure into partnership. It allowed the teachers to learn without fear of being judged, and it allowed Mattias’ mother to trust that the school would keep trying. 

Later, Teacher Den described the turning point that reframed the teachers’ entire journey:  

“It put us on the same boat,” she said. “Just as he couldn’t speak, we also didn’t know how to use AAC.” 

That’s the heart of what ESP support looks like when it’s working well: not perfection, but shared learning: teachers aren’t left to figure it out alone, parents aren’t forced to carry everything themselves, and the child isn’t punished for adults not knowing how to teach them yet. . 

Making it workable in real classrooms 

The team didn’t attempt AAC everywhere at once. They started where Mattias could succeed and where teachers could implement it consistently: phonics. 

“Phonics is more focused,” Teacher Den explained - structured, repeatable, easier to implement without disrupting large group routines. 

Mattias’ mother also put safeguards in place to keep the device secure and purposeful. The iPad was password-protected, and only selected tabs were accessible: “for security” and “to prevent him from playing games.” 

Then a weekly rhythm of teamwork formed. Teachers shared upcoming lesson content; his mother keyed in relevant vocabulary ahead of time. For Chinese, AAC use was intentionally limited at her request due to his learning level, and used mainly for giving instructions. 

For routines like lunch or going to the toilet, the approach was practical rather than rigid. 

“He can verbalise and use hand gestures for routines,” the teachers shared, so AAC wasn’t forced where he already had functional communication. 

It’s easy to admire inclusion in principle. It’s harder to implement it when a classroom has 20 children, time is tight, and routines must keep moving. ESP support exists in that hard middle: providing teachers with support to translate good intentions into workable practice. 

When the whole class needed to learn too 

The biggest challenge wasn’t only teaching Mattias. 

It was teaching the classroom. Teacher Aini who uses it in individual pull out sessions with Mattias helps him with his learning and communication. However, it becomes a whole new challenge when it is to be used in class in full presence of his classmates.  

At first, they were fascinated by the iPad. With many only associating it with watching videos or playing games, they wanted to touch it constantly. Teachers had to manage when Mattias could take it out and how to introduce it so it didn’t become a distraction. 

So they named it clearly. 

Teachers framed it as: “This is Mattias’ voice.” 

They even allowed classmates to engage with it in controlled ways during certain activities, like selecting animals for attendance, so children could understand its purpose, not just be told about it. 

Over time, something shifted. 

“The children gradually understood that the AAC device is a communication tool, not a toy,” the teachers shared. 

Then came something quietly powerful: classmates began helping. They reminded him about his iPad. They learned some of his gestures - sit down, eat, gestures that came from home and were taught by his mother, now adopted by the classroom community. 

This is what donor support enables, indirectly but meaningfully: classrooms where children learn empathy as a daily practice, not a one-off lesson; classrooms where children practice inclusion in all contexts of life.  

From pressing buttons to speaking words 

In the beginning, Mattias explored the AAC system the way many children do: pressing buttons repeatedly, enjoying the sounds, not always using it with clear intent. 

Teachers had to lock the app, guide him back to purposeful use, and teach him to carry the device across settings. It took patience in a fast-paced environment. But over time, intention emerged. Mattias became more independent in navigating different pages. There was less prompting. More agency. 

And then, a sign of progress that the teachers found especially meaningful: 

“Now he will press the button and repeat the word,” the team of teachers shared.  

That detail matters because one of the biggest fears around AAC is that it will replace speech. Mattias’ journey suggests the opposite. 

“AAC is not just replacing speech,” Joanne, his speech therapist, shares. “It supports speech development.”

This sentiment is also echoed by the rest of the team working with him.  

He also became more engaged in phonics sessions; more interactive, more present. The support team’s goals began to expand beyond “I want” into social language: “I see,” “I take,” “I read”. You see, communication isn't fundamentally only about getting needs met, but about being connected to, instead of excluded from, the rest of the world.  

A bigger lesson: communication is more than words 

As the teachers gained confidence, the biggest transformation wasn’t only in Mattias. It was in how the children and also the teachers understood communication. 

Teacher Yan put it simply: “Communication is not just verbal language.”“It’s gestures, expressions, body language.” 

Teacher Aini created a book titled What Are My Hands For? to help Mattias learn appropriate ways to express frustration, because behaviour is often communication, especially when words are hard. 

And when the team reflected on what made the journey possible, they didn’t talk about one perfect strategy. They talked about values: patience, teamwork, two-way communication with parents, and collaboration. 

Those values are exactly what ESP strengthens. Our goal is to find resources to make sure support does not sit only on one teacher’s shoulders, and by helping families and educators stay aligned even when progress is slow and unpredictable. 

What comes next — and why this story matters beyond one child 

Today, Mattias spends half days (until 10am) in occupational therapy Monday to Friday. He will graduate from Little Olive Tree this year and will likely transition to a SPED school for his primary school education. His team continues to evolve, with classroom observations and meetings planned with the EPIC teachers. 

Everyone recognises that AAC looks different across contexts: home, classroom, therapy, future school. The goal isn’t to force one “perfect method.” The goal is continuity so Mattias never loses access to being understood, wherever he is in the world.  

Mattias’ mother has expressed deep appreciation for the teachers’ efforts. She recognises that AAC implementation and coordination meetings are extra work beyond typical duties. Yet she remains thankful, because she can see what it is opening.  

There were many doors that needed to be opened: her learning how to use AAC, her coordinating with the EIPIC centre and Speech Therapist, her coaching the team at Little Olive Tree amongst many others.  

While Little Olive Tree was just one of the many doors, it was the door that opened for Mattias to be part of a mainstream preschool class. It was just one door, but it was an important door so that Mattias could find his voice.  

An invitation to open more doors 

Mattias’ story began with a mother’s persistence. It grew through teachers’ humility and courage. And it was sustained by a support ecosystem (including his early intervention team and speech therapist) that helped everyone keep going, especially in the hard middle where time, training, and classroom realities collide. 

That’s what your donation makes possible. 

When you give to support ESP, you are not just funding a programme. You are funding the extra coaching, coordination, and capacity that helps mainstream preschools include children with diverse communication needs. You are helping educators learn what they were never formally trained for. You are helping parents feel less alone. And most of all, you are helping more children find a voice that the world will actually listen to. 

If Mattias’ journey moved you, consider donating today. Your gift helps open more doors: one child, one classroom, one family at a time.