I never had kids. My fading memories of Halloween are of my own adventures. I remember collecting candy for me and money for something called UNICEF, whatever that was, when I was small. And for March of Dimes, whatever that was.

In later years, I decorated my Long Beach house with scary headlines from newspaper front pages.

Now I watch co-workers pass out candy to children on Main Street while I try to think of something profound to say about the holiday that I will always associate with Charles M. Schultz’s implied lament over the commercialization of the holiday season.

And I smile, knowing that the best part of Halloween comes after the trick-or-treaters have gone home and the decorations have come down:

The 50 percent or more off after-Halloween candy clearance sales.

The thought almost makes me want to do the Snoopy dance.