I've said it before and I know others have too: it's awfully strange, considering my profession, that I don't read books. I've never been a book reader. Ever. I struggled through classes in high school and college that required reading novels.

I know, right? And yes I still want to write the Great American Novel. But that's different. Part of the reason I don't read more is that I'm easily distracted. I can sit down and read a chapter or two of a book, put it down and think that I'll be able to get back to it the next day. But then it's a week before I pick the book up again and I've forgotten what I've read.

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Sometimes I lose sight of Charlie, the 5-year-old. I see Sir Charles the Brave, a courageous warrior whose calloused fingers have shed blood across many a battlefield. The boy who fears nothing.

Like many of our young children with diabetes, checking blood sugars is just a brief pit stop. It's no big deal. Nary a wince or a whine.

In the few times I've checked my own blood sugar, I didn't show nearly the same nonchalance as Charlie does. I jerk my finger back after the pop of the pricker like I'm pulling it from a fire. I contortion my hand oddly like I'm practicing to throw a knuckle ball. Neighboring fingers spread away from the bloody one like it's contagious. Then I nurse my finger. A couple tender kisses, a tightly compressed tissue and close inspection of the prick mark several minutes later. I'm a grown man. How is it possible that my 5-year-old handles it better than me? (READ MORE)