I’m finding that President Donald Trump and I have much in common. For example, we both love golf. I managed to squeeze in nine holes at Lake Lawn Lodge, while Trump plays 18 holes at premier courses about every five days. But the president and I embrace the same policy: We refuse to release our golf scores. 

On taxes, we differ. I release my tax returns to my mortgage company about once a week, in my never-ending quest to get a modification. If Trump could find a way to mortgage the White House, I’m sure we’d see his returns. 

We both entrust our son-in-law with responsibility. Trump has put Jared Kushner, a 36-year-old political neophyte, in charge of streamlining the federal government, brokering peace in the Middle East and combatting opioid addiction. I asked my son-in-law, Bill Callaghan, to plan a weekend golf getaway in Michigan.

We are both geographically-challenged. I drove all the way to Algonquin to see a witness who actually lives in Itasca. Trump claimed an armada was converging on Korea, while it was heading the opposite direction. 

We are both harmful to the environment. I missed the wastebasket with my gum wrapper — again — while he writes orders gutting protections for our air, soil and water. 

I was mortified when I temporarily forgot Marty Sorice’s name, after meeting and interviewing the bar owner multiple times. But I would have felt much worse, if I forgot to mention Jewish victims on International Holocaust Remembrance Day. 

We both have daughters we’re proud of. I have Kelly and Nicole. He has Ivanka and what’s-her-name. 

I prematurely turned off the heat and put away my sweaters, not realizing that May in Chicago has now become a winter month. Trump’s EPA chief was visiting Chicago during the cold snap, which is probably why he doesn’t believe in global warming.

I searched for my car keys until I found the ignition key and the house key sticking out of my front door. The house and car, fortunately, were intact. I hope Trump is more careful with his keys to the nuclear code.

It costs taxpayers millions for Trump to travel to Florida on the weekends. My wife and I have found that it’s much cheaper to travel north for spring break. 

We both grew up in family businesses and inherited financial empires. Just to let you know what I’m worth, my company’s world headquarters now occupies 500 square feet. 

I rubbed a small red mark on my face and it got bigger and redder. However, I will take redness over orange-ness every time.

My father, who died in 1994, was recently upset that they renamed the home of his beloved White Sox, Guaranteed Rate Field. So I understand how President Andrew Jackson could be upset about the outbreak of the Civil War 16 years after his death. If you don’t believe me, just ask Frederick Douglass the next time you see him.

Neither of us are vain about our appearance. I allowed my hair to turn a natural gray, while he has not changed the unnatural tint of his comb-over. 

Trump dismisses criticism as fake news. I occasionally produce fake news but not on purpose. 

I mistook Italian sausages for bratwursts and boiled them in beer and onions but at least I don’t slather ketchup on prime steaks. Although this might seem natural to the president, considering the Heinz ketchup family and Trump’s family both came from the same village in Germany. 

Trump and I are so close, he sends me letters. I’m not only glad to receive them, I haven’t missed the wastebasket once. 

John Rice is a columnist/private detective, who has seen his business and family thrive in Forest Park. He thoroughly enjoys life in the village and still gets a thrill smelling Red Hots, watching softball and strolling through cemeteries.

John Rice

John Rice is a columnist/novelist who has seen his family thrive in Forest Park. He has published two books set in the village: The Ghost of Cleopatra and The Doll with the Sad Face.