When I decided that I wanted to be a teacher, I knew I would have tough days. Sure, I deal with the "typical" kindergarten issues. Crayon snatching, booger picking and time outs are the easy part of my job. Real life is the hard part.

I've never met a more aware group of children, than the group I have this year. We discuss real issues on a daily basis throughout the day. Some of the issues are worldly, but most are close to home. Little things like what they had for dinner and how the homework was "really hard" this week, are taking the back burner.

Sadly we have bigger issues going on in our room. Without getting myself in trouble for a confidentiality breach, we have an issue that is much bigger and grander than anyone who is five year old can understand. An issue that I can not always grasp or comprehend. An issue that has left me and my coworkers in tears for several nights this week and on my knees praying. The issue has a name and unfortunately a child attached to it. We are dealing with an illness and we are just now starting to see it's affects (effects?). Not only am I starting to notice, but the children are starting to notice as well. The physical signs are there and some are beginning to question hair loss and absences. I looked at this child's empty mailbox and cubbie and am left thinking this is one of the most unfair things that could ever happen to anyone, let alone a small child.

And then I remember how strong this child is. How this child braves tests, needles, poking and prodding on a regular basis. How they spend more time in a hospital bed than they do on a playground. How it is now my job to give this child the best childhood they can have. How the number of days absent and make up work are irrelevant. How the most important thing is that this child is alive.

Year four of teaching and I am still constantly learning...not so much from textbooks and grad classes, but from my students. In particular, I am learning from an especially brave and tough five year old.