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Besides being involved in scores of races in which I have played prominent roles, I had my own political career. I speak of my political career in the past tense. I have neither the desire nor the time to waste my precious moments living the pitiful existence of a politician. I like my privacy.

Some argue that my criticism of Donald Trump is a resentfulness on my part because I am jealous of his success. If he has a record of success, I would hate to envision his failures. The end of the world? 

I launched my political career as a first grader at the Mission Catholic School in San Luis Obispo, California. At the back of my report card upon the end of the school teacher Sister Mary Celestina wrote, "Tommy was a very good class president."

My career went south after this promising beginning.

At the end of my freshman year at Modesto High School, I was elected class vice president for the following year. No different from Trump, my fellow officers tried to impeach me. They accused me of stealing money raised from candy sales to finance various projects. I survived the proceedings conducted by the administration.

Undaunted, I ran for student body vice-president at the end of my junior year. I told a packed auditorium that I would transfer to another school if I didn't win, no different than the different celebrities who say that they are going to leave the country if Trump wins.

I ran against a wallflower. She was a sweet, innocent gal whom nobody knew. My friends and I, not taking any chances as we hope the Democrats aren't, stuffed the ballot boxes. There was no question about the outcome. It was only a question the size of the landslide. I lost. The administration had patiently waited to deliver its verdict from two years earlier: Guilty!

There was no interest in politics during my twenties, but when I was 30 and settled in Brownsville with a growing reputation as a writer and a permanent teaching position in the BISD, Estanislao Contreras convinced me to run for city commissioner. He said that it didn't cost a dime to file and the publicity would work in my favor.

I ran against the retired city manager and a rich merchant. The Brownsville Herald covered the municipal elections in an aggressive manner (Those days are gone forever) and I was featured several times with my photo. I had to ad-lib on most the questions since I had no idea about the city's inner workings. The ex-city manager won easily and I finished a distant third, but I had gained myself some notoriety.

Two years later I tried to ride this name I.D. to new heights and ran for mayor. I was running against the incumbent and a used-car dealer. Both television stations filmed me announcing my candidacy on the bar at the Palm Lounge from where I managed my campaign, which included hosting two chicken fundraisers. I lost money on both. At the second event I publicized it as an autograph party for my first book--Puke Poetry. I sold more books than chicken, which wasn't much. Of the 1000 books I published, I have given away at least 900 over the years. They have served a purpose as presents for birthdays and Christmas.

As to the election, I gave it my best shot. But, predictably, it was all for naught, but I didn't embarrass myself. The mayor collected 4200 votes. I followed in second with 1700 and the used-car salesman chalked up 800. I turned the experience into an artistic achievement. The result was my third book and first novel--El Cabrón. It is considered a border classic.

Drunk, I have entertained the thought of running for various offices. The ego comes roaring out of its cage when the alcohol entices you with its sweet nothings. The hangovers the follow morning erase those ridiculous thoughts from my mind.

With my 70th birthday approaching in two months, would I rather be sitting in front of my computer recounting my past and listening to Bossa Nova or would I rather be Trump chasing his fame and leaving a legacy of shame? I wish the more profound questions that plague me on a daily basis had such easy answers.