Well, today is Halloween. Woo hoo! Except, as a diabetic, it’s the worst holiday in the world for me. There’s candy everywhere. And I look at each delicious Snickers bar and convert it to how bad my blood sugar will be after I eat it.

Sure, I try to will my blood sugar down. “If only I can have an insulin reaction, I can eat that!” Well, if there’s one thing I’ve learned, Insulin isn’t telepathic. It just doesn’t work.

I was diagnosed with diabetes 21 years ago, when I was eight. I got sick over Halloween (still can’t stand the smell of pumpkins) and was in the hospital being treated and learning about the disease over Thanksgiving.

I learned a lot about the disease and realized that my life as a kid was over. Halloween was definitely out. I figured I wouldn’t go trick or treating. Naturally, I had nearly a year to change my mind. And I did. I don’t remember what I was dressed as, but it was probably something stupid. It wasn’t until sixth grade that I went as Eddie Van Halen. So I was probably something simple like a baseball player or a Sandinista Rebel. I do remember that my friend Mike was a cat burglar that year. Dressed in all black with a mask, he was jumping out and scaring the crap out of everyone.

His house was the highlight of the neighborhood. His parents had installed loud speakers on their roof for some reason (we found a good use for them in High School, though the police felt they could be used in a more productive way). Mike’s dad used to play a creepy Halloween sound-effects record, making the whole neighborhood frightening with shrieking, moaning and rattling chains. All the kids loved it. Most of the neighbors loved it. Mr. Perrin hated it and would always call the police. It was tradition.

When I got home with my loot, my mother and I sat there looking at it. We were both pleased that I was able to enjoy this tradition of childhood but . . . what do you do with seventy pounds of pure Diabetic death?

We thought about it for a while and couldn’t come up with anything. So we dumped it in a plastic pumpkin and put it on the table. The next morning when my sister was dropping off her son for my mom to watch, it dawned on me. As she reached for a succulent Snickers bar I blurted out, “It’ll cost you a nickel!” And she paid!

It became a tradition. I’d sell my candy every year. A nickel a piece, a dime a handful. For the next several years, I was able to make all my Christmas money off of Halloween candy. No more shopping at Walgreen’s for me! I was able to pick up some quality gifts from Venture.

Now, of course, I have self-control. Candy isn’t the threat it once was. And now I have kids to live vicariously through. Young Matilda will be Harry Potter this year. She’s got a nice Griffindor Quidditch robe, a wand and is using a pair of my old glasses. For some reason she didn’t want to be Hermione. Odd.

Gertrude, who is celebrating her first Halloween and, no doubt, will find it a surreal experience, is going as a baby gorilla. She’s amazingly cute in her outfit. She wore it over to the sitter’s this morning and as soon as I carried her outside half the neighborhood came out to say how cute she is. (Followed shortly by half the neighborhood dads when my wife came out dressed as Britney Spears. She thought it was funny. I suggested going as a school marm. She still went with Britney. The good news is when she told Matilda she was dressing as Britney, Matilda responded, “Ewww.”) I’m not dressing as anything. My yearly dream of dressing as David Byrne from Stop Making Sense was dashed once again. I still cannot find the perfect suit. Matilda suggested I dress as one of our neighbors. But I think it’s too cold out to go as “Shirtless Guy.”

Can you imagine Halloween from a baby’s perspective? It must be horrifying. All these bizarre creatures running around demanding sweets from unsuspecting old couples who are throwing the treats as far as possible from the door screaming, “Back! Back! Get away from my door!”

Maybe that’s just the neighborhood we live in.