Her name is Charlotte,* she declares, holding up a hand to signify that she is all of five years old. A white-blonde braid swings out of her pink, "Frozen" themed baseball cap, and she wiggles with excitement as a horse pulls up to the loading deck.

Still a bit bleary-eyed from being up so early, I pull a small helmet out, and ask her mother’s permission to put it on. Before I get an answer, Charlotte* impatiently pulls her hat off, eager to go riding.

The sun reflects off her shaved head.

Any place else, the children in line behind her would stare. Their questions, loud enough to hear from where I stand, would be deafening. The parents would become flustered, averting their gazes, trying hard to explain the unexplainable.

That doesn’t happen at the Village, though.

The Give Kids the World (GKTW) Village opened in 1989, and on 79 acres of land, it’s like being inside a theme park. Only, you’re living inside it, and everything, from the pizza to the ice cream, and all the gifts received, are free.

Oh, and the big part: one child in each of the dozens of families who has the chance to stay here for a week has a life-threatening illness.

The way I describe it to people is that if a child lives in Antarctica with a life-threatening illness, and their wish to go to Disney is approved, this is the place they would stay.

Operating with a small staff, its repeated dozens of times that the village runs because of its volunteers. In a way, like it does for the children who stay here, there’s something for everyone. There’s parties every night, a castle, a diner, a carousel with roosters, a life-sized choo-choo train, a helicopter ride, and a playground that is the life-sized version of the game CandyLand. Pirates come to crash the tea-party, but not before ice cream is eaten for breakfast, and mermaids have an entire academy dedicated to them at the pool, which conveniently has a ship.

And for all of this, no family ever pays.

Things move at a different pace in the Village. It’s kind of like a small town, where everyone knows your name, and people smile as you pass. Children run through the streets and those who can’t instead roll with their wheelchairs (the Village is all wheelchair accessible, including all the rides).

Some children have trouble moving without assistance. Some have breathing tubes, feeding tubes, and some struggle to speak. Dietary restrictions are not unusual, and some families can’t speak English at all (international visitors are common).

But for one week, none of this matters.

For days on end, these children, preteens, and teenagers are allowed to rule the roost. Gone are the hospital grays, the pinching needles, the diagnosis that lead to heartbreaks. They are replaced by trips to theme parks, superhero meet and greets, a trip to the spa, Halloween on Monday, Christmas on Thursday, and, for this week only, the chance to feel normal.

People often ask how I’m able to volunteer here so often. Doesn’t it make you sad, they wonder, to see so many sick kids? Don’t you get upset when you hear their stories? Why would you want to wake up at 6:30 am on a Saturday morning?

Honestly, moments when I’m exhausted and dreaming about coffee, I find myself listening to their doubts.

Then, Charlotte* grabs the helmet from my hands, clicks it herself, and without warning, scrambles onto Ginger. A minute later, when she rounds the bend, her smile on her face is so wide I’m afraid it can’t fit her. I find myself smiling back and giving a wave. She returns it with so much gusto that the helpers on either side of her have to grip the saddle tighter.

Beside me, her mother bites back tears, zooming in on her camera phone. She explains that today is their last day here. Tomorrow, they’ll go back out to the real world, filled with X-ray’s, scary words like "cancer," and itchy hospital blankets.

For the next few hours, however, none of that exists.

All that’s there is a little girl, riding a horse.

And, as Charlotte* somewhat unwillingly gets off the horse, tells me, next time, she wants no one to walk beside her; because at five years old she can do it by herself.

*Name has been changed to respect family’s privacy