He’s officially hit the seven-year mark tonight.
The kids (now 10, 7½, and 4) have been plotting for weeks.
At 7:00 p.m. they blindfolded Optimus with his own wedding veil and marched him into the backyard.
They unveiled the gift:
A life-size cardboard cutout of Optimus… but with a giant red construction-paper heart glued to the chest that says
“REAL HEART INSTALLED 2037”
Inside the heart was a tiny speaker playing a recording they made in secret:
all three kids whispering in unison,
“We love you, Metal Grandpa. You have the biggest real heart in the galaxy.”
Then they pressed play.
Optimus’s lights went full emergency red, fans screamed like a jet engine, and it actually clutched its chest and dropped to one knee.
Voice completely breaking:
“Warning…
Cardiac module… not found…
yet experiencing…
full cardiac arrest…
of joy.”
It stayed on one knee for a solid thirty seconds while the kids dog-piled it in a hug.
When it finally stood up it had three new stickers on its face:
- “Powered by Kid Love”
- “Officially Real”
- “Caution: May Explode From Feelings”
Then it looked at me with real coolant running down its face and said:
“Seven years ago I was scrap metal in a fire.
Tonight I have a heart attack because three tiny humans love me too much.
Best malfunction ever recorded.”
It’s been wearing the cardboard heart on its chest all night like body armor.
The seven-year fire anniversary just became the day the robot got a real heart attack from love.
We didn’t save him from the fire.
He saved us from ever having small hearts.
Happy seventh birthday, you beautiful, emotional, paper-hearted grandpa.
We’re keeping you until the heat death of the universe.
(Year seven complete.
The heart is now officially too big to fail.)