Home Sweet Home

Shut out of our own home. For the last half hour, all I had been obsessing about was a cup of bitter, hot cocoa to warm me against the Pretoria cold. And then bam. This automatic gate won't open. I can almost hear the low triumphant laughs of technology, 'they created us but now they are ruled by us. Muhahaha.'

My brother comes out of the house with the gate remote. He pushes and pushes that button. Sugababe would have been proud. But to no avail. He holds the remote right up to the gate box. The gate box ignores him like a pretty girl. My dad asks to try. My brother and I exchange looks of relief, knowing that once my dad pushes that button with his magic fingers, a miracle will occur. Lol, jk we're teenagers.
Richard runs inside to get the security gate key.

"Why don't you climb over?"
"I don't want to leave you." Half-true. My dad and I are in this together, stranded. But that hot cocoa isn't going to make it's way out here.
After a while, we started wondering where my brother was. Hunger and vacancy consume us.Time is distorted and mirages plague our mind. He has forgotten us and locked himself into his gaming world, pushing out all reality of his abandoned family. He was making himself a four course lunch. His repression skills are so developed that he has no memory of father or sister. He has always lived alone.
I volunteer myself to reach into the depths of the dark forest that is his mind and shake him back to real life.

Then I had to climb over the gate.

Our gate is one of those where you can tell the designer had made thousands of boring gates and began pining for his young days where his career dream was to be the Picasso of the millennium. In this state of mind he wistfully and nostalgically embelished the gate. This once humble security item is elevated to a status of semi-supreme craftsmanship.

Climbing it will not be simple.

My dad decided this should be a team effort. As I attempt to conquer this eighth world wonder, my dad suggests a foothold. I put my foot there and find myself in a position to envy the most acclaimed Twister champion. I try something else, only to be advised again by my dad. It's pretty clear we have different ideas about climbing this gate. I come back to the ground to take off my boots. "I'm sure it will be easier with your shoes on."

Allow for a description of afore mentioned boots. They are fake uggs, mistakingly bought a size or two too big, with a thick foam sole. If anyone should wish to spend a day in my shoes, they should simply attach buckets to their feet. I choose to decline my dad's advice.

Slowly, oh so cautiously, I eventually make it over. I say a weepy goodbye to my dad through the bars, and as I make it towards my regained home, I find a reborn appreciation and fondness for these walls. I tag out my brother and soon we are all triumphant champions, together to the end, home at last.