Joey, my oldest child, is six years old and already quite a clever creator. He can make houses out of sticks and boats out of cardboard boxes. He can build an entire city with toy blocks and crafty cabins with the same Lincoln Logs his daddy used more than 30 years ago. Most recently, Joey has been sharpening his skills with Lego.

Today, while his daddy built him a Lego jet, Joey constructed his own masterpiece. He called it his Cancer Center.

I wasn't around to hear Joey dedicate his building to such an important cause. But I heard about it after the fact when Joey offered me a mini-tour of the structure. I learned that the center has a helicopter landing pad and offices with windows for the employees. I was shown an emergency vehicle with its own system for taking blood from patients, rendering it healthy, and then returning it to the body. And then just as I wanted more -- more details, more specifics, more history on just why he built this cancer center -- Joey's attention moved elsewhere. And so I know nothing more about the cancer center sitting in the playroom of my house.

Cancer is no strange topic for Joey who has been along on my own cancer ride for the past two years -- so perhaps I am the inspiration for his architectural creation. But I suspect the real driving force behind Joey's latest project is the vacant land we passed yesterday. This land is the future site of a new cancer center in our city, and Joey probably heard me talking about the ground breaking ceremony that just took place. Regardless, cancer was on his mind this morning. And while the topic may be far from his mind now -- and I'm sure the building will be demolished by the day's end -- I am touched that for mere moments, Joey was invested in a noble cancer endeavor.

My brother-in-law came up to me tonight with his iPod and handed me his headsets. A cue to put them on, I guessed -- and so I did. A song played and right away I liked what I heard. It was the exact type of music I like -- with a grungy, rock kind of sound. I figured Jack knows what I like and was sharing a new song with me. Which he was -- but there was something more to it. It wasn't just a good song -- it was a good song about cancer, with a message of hope and strength and living through the struggles of a life that has been shaken. Written by Scott Leger of the Austin-based band wideawake, Maybe Tonight, Maybe Tomorrow is dedicated to the millions of people affected by cancer -- those who have lost, those who have survived, those who fight and volunteer and support and research and raise awareness and give and inspire. And for those without cancer too really. For anyone who is faced with forces that threaten the most precious of assets -- time.

I just purchased my very own End Breast Cancer license plate. For years, the back of my mini-van has displayed a University of Florida plate -- and while I am proud to be a Florida Gator, I am more proud to be a breast cancer survivor. I survived college -- seven whole years of college -- but I fought harder to survive breast cancer. I gave more and endured more and invested more with breast cancer. I feel accomplished and rewarded by this undertaking in a way that doesn't compare to college -- which is quite an undertaking in itself. So this new license plate reflects the me of today -- the me with lumpectomy scars and a port popping up from under my skin and my dark, curly post-chemo hair. Unlike the me of long ago -- with no scars and blond, straight hair bouncing in a ponytail or hanging out the back of a ball cap.  My University of Florida license plate suited me then.  My breast cancer plate suits me now.

The proceeds for my purchase -- just $25 more than a standard Florida plate -- go to the Florida Breast Cancer Coalition Research Foundation, a non-profit grass-roots organization dedicated to the eradication of breast cancer through advocacy, education, and research. Many states feature a breast cancer license plate. The appearance and message written on each plate are different but the purpose is the same -- to raise awareness and funding for the fight against breast cancer.

I still have a big Florida Gator sticker on the back of my van.  But it now shares space with my pink ribbon magnet and my new license plate too.  I am a traveling billboard.  And I'm proud of it.