Mount Kisco, N.Y.

The kids at my door Tuesday night don’t know that everyone hates each other yet. For them, it’s still about the candy and costumes.

It’s early, but so far we’ve had a pumpkin, a Minion, an FBI agent (my youngest daughter), six princesses, a doughnut, the Incredible Hulk and half dozen assorted superheroes ringing our bell.

We do brisk business on Halloween. My wife insists on giving out full-size Hershey bars; word gets around. The kids don’t give a moment’s notice to the political sign in our front yard announcing our Election Day allegiances a week hence; we’re the “Hershey bar house,” which is just fine with me.

The littlest ones come with their parents and grandparents. They’re polite, too, always reminding the little tykes to say “trick or treat” and “thank you” before the kids, loot slung over their tiny shoulders, skip down our steps for the house next door (Skittles and bite-size Snickers).

I could swear one of those parents near spit at me Tuesday morning when I tried to hand him a piece of campaign literature at a train station. He’s all grown up now.

Too many of us are. A Washington Post-University of Maryland poll declared this week that Americans are more politically divided now than at any time since the Vietnam War. Salon declared it the worst political environment since the Civil War. I’ve been thinking Jamestown Indian Massacre of 1622.

But, alas, here comes a leopard, a Power Ranger, a Star Wars storm trooper and a really gnarly looking pirate. We turn down the news so they can’t hear about Tuesday’s terrorist attack in downtown Manhattan.

They’re quickly replaced by a vampire with (presumably) fake blood streaming down his chin and a glistening nose that needs wiping. As he walks away, he excitedly, and half mistakenly, screams to all who will hear: “king-size Hershey’s!, king-size Hershey’s!”

My wife is blushing with pride. God bless the little bloodsucker.

We’ve only had one Donald Trump Tuesday night. Impeccable manners — truly. We’ve had more Katniss Everdeens from the dystopian “The Hunger Games” book series. America isn’t quite there yet mercifully.

Our older girls loved those books, but I can’t remember if either ever went trick-or-treating at Katniss. Those days are over for them. They’re in college now, learning how to hate about half their countrymen. They’re growing up.

But no thinking such thoughts on Halloween night. Here comes Chewbacca, followed by a fresh stream of kids carrying flashlights. They’re getting older now as the night goes on.

Good lord. We’ve run out of chocolate.

My wife gives me a panicked look. Might they turn on us?