Boring. Uncool.

        We were standing in the noon sun on Fountain Square Tuesday for the United Way kickoff. I was among several media “celebrities” chosen to help because the people at United Way think that if they flatter us we will write about the campaign. We learned that the goal is $62 million, which goes to more than 170 worthy causes. This year's chairman is Dave Calhoun of GE Aircraft Engines, who says, “If ever there was a time for organized giving in Greater Cincinnati, it is now.”

        (Apparently this strategy works.)

        That's not the point.

        The point is Bud, who was one of several children paired with us “celebrities.” The kids were from a preschool supported by the United Way. The organizers know instinctively that we “celebrities” may have access to ink and airtime, but we are not — for the most part — cute. This is where Bud and his 3-year-old classmates come in.

Getting in the game

        When we were introduced, I held out my hand. Bud shook it uncertainly, eyeing the radio personality next to me who was high-fiving his partner. Bud watched them longingly. He looked as if he might try to make a break for it. I grabbed his hand and hung on, pulling him toward the stage.

        “Hot enough for you?” I screamed over the noise of a band. Channel 5's Anne Marie Tiernon was dancing with her child. Another envious look from Bud.

        To put him at ease, I told him, “We're going up on that stage in front of all these people. Won't that be fun.” Then I gave a forced shriek of mirth, just to give him an idea of how much fun this was going to be. Bud's eyes got as big as saucers and he sat down abruptly on the ground.

        I am helpless with children who do not officially belong to me. Teachers, who spend their days with other people's children, leave me weak with humility.

        My daughter's favorite was Ann Arbogast, who still teaches at Mariemont High School. “She made English fun.” And, here's the big one, “She made me feel smart.”

        My friend, Jan, works in administration at another school, where teachers start work early to get ready for the start of school. She admires a teacher, always prepared, who nonetheless leaves the nametags until the last minute — right as the child arrives. “I don't know if he wants to be called Nicholas or Nick or Nicky. I want him to see his name just the right way.”

        Maybe that seems small in the grand scheme of education. But I'll bet it doesn't seem that way to Nicholas/Nick/Nicky. School is not just books. It's watching kids on the playground to see if somebody looks as though she wants to play jump rope but doesn't know how to get in the game.

        Some people have a talent for that.

        At just the right moment Tuesday, a woman put her arm around Bud's shoulder and whispered to him. He smiled at her, and obediently took my hand.

        I think she is a teacher.

        E-mail lpulfer@enquirer.com or phone 768-8393.

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