“Oh, you’re a Transformer now? You think you’re Optimus Prime or something?”
Thats what I said when He was 10 1/2 weeks old. Until then, everyone including me thought He was a girl, but at 10 1/2 weeks He rolled over, kicked His legs apart, and there He was in all His boyish glory. And so He was named.
Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots, hero of the Cybertronian wars, the greatest Autobot that ever was, and my favorite Transformer ever since I was a kid. Yeah there were other cool Transformers. Shockwave and Blaster who transformed into boom boxes and had mini casette Transformers inside them. The constructicons who joined to form Devastator, they were the first Transformers who could do that, but not the last. Omega Supreme, the Titan who became an interstellar rocket, had lived since before the wars began, and had a sadness to him that tugged at the heartstrings of even a young child. Then there were the dinobots, the strongest of the Transformers, but also always the youngest in mannerisms.
But none of them could compare to Optimus Prime. How could they? He was the epitome of everything good in life. He stood for the forces of all that was good and right in the face of even the greatest evil. He never lost hope, even in the face of a seemingly unbeatable foe. He deplored violence, always seeing himself not as a warrior but as a leader who did what he had to to defend the innocent and defenseless, taking life only when he had no other option. He always sought peace in the midst of any conflict. He would do everything in his power to prevent others from being harmed, even if it meant retreating and allowing the Decepticons to win a battle. He always chose the lives of others over victory in battle. He would risk his own life to save any of his Autobots, any human, and even at times to save Decepticons. He put others before himself, right up to the end. In his final battle with Megatron, the leader of the Decepticons, he had the chance to destroy his enemy once and for all and end the war and killing forever. All he had to do was sacrifice one of his own who Megatron was holding as a shield. Instead he sacrificed his own life to save Hot Rod, it was his way.
Others before himself. All life was important to him. It was his way, it was who he was. He was Optimus Prime.
Why am I talking about a childrens cartoon? I’m watching the original Transformers movie right now. Normally I watch it to remember my childhood. I always have tears just behind my eyes when Megatron kills Optimus Prime, just like I did as a child. A few tears always roll down my cheeks when the light goes out of his eyes after passing the Matrix to Ultra Magnus. For 90 minutes I feel just like I did as a kid. I’m a child again, living in a simpler time and a simpler world. Saturday morning cartoons are the same. But today that’s not why I’m watching the movie, and its not why I was watching cartoons Saturday morning like I usually do.
I’m watching the movie for my Baby Boy. I was up on Saturday morning watching cartoons for Him as well. He loved cartoons. He’d hop up in front of the TV and sit with His nose inches from the screen watching the characters as they moved across it. Periodically He’d put his paw up on the screen and try to touch them. The other cats didn’t bother with the TV unless there were birds on, they’d just lay on the bed with me while I watched them, but Optimus just loved His cartoons. I’d often have cartoons on that had no interest for me, things that have been on since I was a kid but which I’d never watched, new ones that I probably wouldn’t have. But Optimus loved them. Children may keep their eyes on George, but my Opty only had eyes for The Man with the Yellow Hat. The brightly colored dragons of Dragon Tales mesmerized him. He’d chase the silly bird thing of Cyber Chase back and forth across the screen, reaching out to grab it. Anytime I went out, I checked the TV listings to find a channel that had cartoons on for as much of the time I’d be gone as possible and put it on for Him. When I was working, If I had to do overtime on Saturdays, I left the TV on so He could watch the cartoons when they came on. He enjoyed them so much, how could I not let Him watch them? I know He missed me, He was always the first to greet me when I came home, and I know that having the cartoons helped Him not miss me so much while I was out.
He was so curious, and so intelligent. When I’d watch the Transformers movie, He knew who He was named after, of course, that might be because I always pointed Prime out to Him and told Him “this is who You’re named after”. He’d be sitting there watching it, and when the light left Prime’s eyes, he’d lay down. I thought it was just coincedence the first time, but he did it every time. Maybe He sensed my sadness, its more than possible, but there’s a part of me that can’t believe He was simply picking up on my nostalgic feelings. A part of me knows that He knew what had happened, and that laying down was His way of honoring His namesake.
He was Optimus Prime, named for the greatest Autobot that ever was, and He shared so many of his traits.
His Sissies and Mom would pick on Him, they’d beat Him up and He let them. He was bigger than all of them, He could have swatted them down easily, but other than playful wrestling, He never did. He wouldn’t pick on them, His eyes showed that He knew it was wrong to hit someone smaller than Him even if they were hitting him. He’d just run off and leave them be. He was there for all of us when we were sick. It didn’t matter what it was, if one of us wasn’t feeling good He was there with us instead of playing or exploring. He gave of Himself completely with no reservations at all. His name fit Him perfectly. The great Autobot leader would have been proud to know that Optimus Prime lived up to His name.
But the Autobots had something we don’t. They had Ultra Magnus to be there for them until Hot Rod rose up and became Rodimus Prime. We have no Ultra Magnus. We have no Hot Rod. We still need our Optimus Prime. But we have only memories of Him.
In a way, I envy the rest of my Babies. In time, His scent will fade until there’s nothing left of him except in the items I’ve saved in bags. When His scent is gone, His Sissies and Mom will start to forget Him, at least consciously. In time, they’ll have only vague recollections that there was another cat here, if that. They’ll still go through the motions of games they played because its habit, but with little or no understanding of why they do it. They may leave a spot open at their dinner plates, but with no idea why other than that they always have. He’ll become nothing more than a series of habits that have no meaning to them. They’ll spend the rest of their lives in blisfull ignorance of what they lost, they’ll no longer feel that loss. They’ll be free of their grief, and they deserve that. They deserve to not have to feel the stabs of pain the little things will cause.
But I also feel sorry for them. Once His scent fades and they forget him they’ll no longer have the memories of the joy He brought. They won’t remember being curled up in a warm mass as they lay blindly suckling as infants. They won’t remember the feel of His warm body pressed against theirs as they lay together while their mother napped separately for a bit. They’ll have no memory of teasing Him with their tails before pouncing him and rolling around on the floor. They won’t remember Him grooming them when they didn’t feel good. Warm naps together under the blankets will be forgotten, as will running around the apartment chasing each other back and forth. They’ll be denied the joys and happiness that those memories bring, but they deserve to have that. They deserve to forever remember the love they shared with Him.
Musings of a Bipedal Vertebrate 