I suck air into my gut and hold my breath. It is winter break. My family is about to watch October Sky. I am seven, and my sister is 11. We both glue our eyes to the screen before us.

October Sky is based on the life of former NASA engineer Homer Hickam. The movie follows Hickam from his humble upbringing in the town of Coalwood, West Virginia, where he first starts building rockets, through his rise to fame. Something about the hope on Homer’s face after he learns that his team won the national science fair resonates with my family. The next year, we watch the film again, and again the year after that.

When I am 11, I still hold on to each word in the movie and am excited when we watch it, but I’ve started to memorize the phrases and gestures, the transitions from one scene to the next. The landscape of the film feels predictable. Still, I smile along with my family and say something about how inspiring the ending is when the rocket flies into the sky. My parents nod along, and my sister does, too. I wonder if they’ve started to memorize every word in the conversation between Homer and his father, or the surprise on Homer’s face when his first rocket destroys his mother’s fence.

When I am 18, the movie has lost some of its luster; every headshake and furrow of the eyebrow seems familiar. The inspiring ending doesn’t feel as inspiring anymore. Still, sitting on the same brown couch we always sit on, I make my usual comment about the rocket flying high in the air and the way it parallels people’s limitless dreams. Secretly, I notice how clichéd it is. In comparison to the complexity of Homer Hickam’s true story, the whole movie seems to employ a reductive, feel-good plot. Why can’t I be in awe like I was when I was seven?

I begin to think of all the things I believed in when I was younger: the tooth fairy, unicorns, the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. I wonder why I stopped believing in these things, and I feel a sharp pang in the pit of my stomach. I hunger to believe again.

For a moment, I feel that all of my younger selves are sitting next to me on the couch, but they fade like rockets in the night sky.