As a sugar fiend, Halloween was a High Holy day in my childhood. Like a squirrel, I used the holiday to gather and hoard candy that would last me through the autumn months until Santa could fill my stocking with tooth-breaking peppermint discs.

On Halloween, my siblings and I would take pillowcases and trick-or-treat through the neighborhood. When the bags were full, we’d bring home our haul so Mom could scrutinize each piece. She’d look for razor blades poking out of apples, unwrapped candy laced with angel dust and Butterfinger bars that she confiscated as Halloween tax.

In sixth grade, I went trick-or-treating with a boy and we dressed as square dancers because Mr. Madson had taught us how to dance and it was an easy costume. The boy was more interested in trying to kiss me than in securing candy. So I told him we had no future and do-si-doed to the next house to see if they were handing out full-size candy bars.

The gathering of candy was just the beginning. After mom crime-proofed my loot, I’d sort it into categories: chocolate bars, Charms Blow-Pops, fruity Wacky Wafers, Pixy Stix, flavorless Smarties, wax bottles filled with questionable liquid, hard-as-rock orange taffy, Bazooka bubble gum and boring Tootsie Rolls. Then, I’d count each piece so I’d know if one of my bratty siblings took anything.

Once my bag-o-cavities was categorized and counted, I’d hide it under my pillow and sleep on it like Smaug protecting his treasure from the grubby hands of mortals. I sometimes woke up with a lollipop stuck to my face.

The real benefit of Halloween candy was having access to sweet treats at school. Sneaking candy to school was the tricky part. On November 1, teachers knew we’d all have pockets full of candy and we wouldn’t be able to pay attention until after Thanksgiving. But they attempted to confiscate any sugary substance, so I had to be strategic.

I’d pretend to look for something in my desk and shove a handful of Milk Duds in my mouth. Invariably, the teacher would call on me as soon as I had the candy stuffed in my cheeks like a chipmunk. Do you know how hard it is to talk with a mouthful of Milk Duds?

After school, I’d dash home to my pile of candy to recategorize and recount, and to punish anyone within screeching distance if one piece of Laffy Taffy was missing. Yes, I was a bit obsessive. I understand that now.

Halloween candy was also perfect for smuggling into Sunday school. If I could get it past my mom, I could snack all through the long Sunday services. At the time, dresses didn’t have pockets (those were hard times) so I had to resort to creative options.

My socks became repositories for candy contraband. I was too young to realize mothers notice when their child’s legs are suddenly shaped like Baby Ruth bars. Plus, the plastic candy wrappers strapped around my ankles made a crinkling and crackling noise as subtle as a bull in a china shop.

A week after Halloween, my candy stash had dwindled significantly. I needed to cut back if it was going to last until Christmas but the Bottle Caps, the Sugar Babies, the Bit-o-Honey and the Boston Baked Beans called to me like a siren on a rock.

Whether I battled the world’s loudest candy wrappers or faced the principal for participating in black market candy sales, Halloween remained my favorite holiday. I still squirrel away my favorite candies and I warn everyone to touch my cache at their peril.