I'm Sorry, Rocket Boy

Dear Sonny,
When you first blew up your mother's fence, I was extremely furious. I couldn't stand the thought that you were adventuring in life and hoping to be somewhere else than the mine. But you knew that already. I'm going to tell you what you don't know.
I haven't always been the greatest father, as you know. My commitment -my obsession- with my career lead me away from my true love in life: my family. But when you first sent your mother's fence sky high, I was indeed furious, but also grew a little respect for you. You had managed to do something with your life that I had never ventured to do, and that was dream. Of course I couldn't let my leadership role be compromised by your life goal, so I shot it down. Forbid you to shoot another. Threatened you if you did. But that didn't stop you.
Maybe it was your mother's encouragement. Maybe it was Sputnik 1 and your desire to outdo the Russian space program. But I think the real reason you pressed on was to be different than everyone else, especially me. Even though I shunned you, ignored you, refused to help, you didn't let me discourage you and kept building your rockets. You were crafty. You found ways to sneak around and get things done, knowing full well that at some point I would find out. Perhaps it was your little rebellion that started to change me. Rather than the little boy that wasn't good at anything, I started to see you as a man with a future. A future in the mine.
When you and your friends started building more complicated rockets, and started creating new fuel, I knew it was going on the whole time, but rather than confront you and put an end to it, my slight respect for you kept me away, allowing you to finish your job. But I still had to keep up my reputation. Every time you fired your rockets on company property, I got in big trouble with the company. I have never told anyone this, but I was threatened with my job should you continue to launch. Knowing that I needed my job to support this family, I knew I needed to stop you, but my ounce of respect for you and your project made me compromise. Rather than stop you, I moved you to the outskirts of the property where no one could know you were launching, and the company seemed okay with that.
Your enthusiasm continued to water my respect for you, making it grow. The next time I caught you making fuel, I asked how high you would blow the house off of its foundation. Your snapped answer of "Only a few inches" showed me you weren't so timid anymore. My respect grew. You continued to show how strong willed you were and went to the metal shop to make more rockets. My respect grew. Knowing I would say no, you came to me and asked for help to build "Cape Coalwood". My respect grew. Through everything you did, I slowly came to respect you more.
Although every time I said no to your requests to uphold my reputation, fate would have it that you would somehow find all of the materials you needed. I would know, I know fate very well. I thought nothing would come out of your venture, but then you one day said you wanted to become an engineer. I was ecstatic. This whole time I thought it had been a silly fad, but now something good had come out of it. I toured you around the mine and explained to you what being an engineer would include, thinking it was what you wanted. However, when we got back to the surface it was clear you were not as excited as I was. You explained that you wanted to be a rocket engineer, not a mining one, and I became furious. All the work that I was prepared to do so you could have a good future was tossed aside, and I was beside myself with anger. But you kept building.
Some weeks later the bump happened. I went down to help out, but everyone who returned home that night was a changed man. I had lost my eye, and one of the best drill operators I had. I knew what Isaac Bykovski had meant to you, and you reacted as I expected. You shut down, and completely gave up your rockets. Contrary to what you may have believed, this made me extremely sad. I saw your passion, your life goal, and your personality thrown out the window. Those few days I was the saddest for that I had ever, and have ever, been for you. I went to work convincing the people of Coalwood to encourage you back, and it worked. That's when the big things started happening.
You came up with a new fuel, and new nozzles for your rockets. You entered the regional science fair and won. After moving on to the state science fair you won first place in that too. The excitement around town was so great, it even grabbed ahold of me. Even then, however, I had a lot of doubt in you. But you made my respect grow even more when you stood up for yourself and whipped Calvin when he made you lose your nozzles and nosecones. After that, I was cheering for you strongly at the science fair.
Since then, you have come home with a gold and silver medal after winning first place in the country at the fair. You went through your last few weeks of school, and tomorrow you set off your last few rockets, and then graduate. I wrote this letter because you needed to know that although I may have seemed, and still seem, hostile towards you, you could not have made me more proud. I'm sorry for all the pain I've caused, Rocket Boy. I hope you continue to make me more proud.
Your father,
Homer Hickam

The Rocket Boys begin launching into the "October Sky"

Dear Mr. Werner von Braun,
Let me begin by saying I am your biggest fan. Your work has lead me to form the Big Creek Missile Agency (BCMA) based on your Army Ballistic Missile Agency (ABMA). You have inspired me to become an Engineer for the ABMA helping the great country of the United States of America to reach the moon before the Russians. Let me tell you a little bit about myself, and about my story.
It all began with my feeling of patriotism towards my country. I have been growing up in a small coal-mining town by the name of Coalwood, in the mountains of West Virginia. One night while watching the television, i noticed the Sputnik I had been launched by the Russians. I was disgusted that they had beat us to it, of course, but when, a few weeks later, the sattellite had soared over my town, something inside me changed. That night, when all of Coalwood sat in my backyard and watched, I realized I wanted to send a satellite, or even a rocket, into space.
I gathered up the neighbourhood boys, Coalhican O'Dell, Sherman, and Roy Lee, and we set to work. I had saved some firecrackers from the Fourth of July, and put them inside a model airplane with the wings cut off. We tied a fuse around the firecrackers, and all found rocks to hide behind. Sherman did the countdown, Roy Lee brought the matches, O'Dell struck one and handed it to me who lit the fuse. We jumped behind our rocks and watched as the Cherry Bombs blew with a great flash. A witness saw it and later said it was a majestic and beautiful thing. That would have been great provided the "rocket" the witness had seen wasn't my mother's garden fence.
After a good talking to and a few days to let things blow over, I approached a boy named Quentin at school. He was, and is, basically the smartest kid in the school. I asked him if he knew anything about rockets, and after a few minutes of deciphering his vocabulary, learned he knew how to make black powder. Once we had bought the materials and found the right mix, we poured it into an alluminun tubing with a washer soldered on the bottom as a nozzle made by a machinist named Isaac Bykovski, and the Auk I was born. It only flew 6 feet but it was something.
Since then, we have come a long way. We have switched from black powder fuel to a mixture we call "Rocket Candy" based on its smelling like vanilla fudge. This mixture is made up of saltpeter and sugar melted in my mother's hot plate. Once melted in burns exceptionally well, and recently launched the Auk XII seven hundred and sixty feet in the air.
However, I write this letter asking for advice. I am supported only by Mr. Bykovski and my mother, but hardly anybody else. Have you ever been opposed? I have heard that you worked for Adolf Hitler, so I'm sure you have. I ask that you would write back with advice and how you respond to the critisism. I hope to one day work for you down at Cape Canaveral.
Your fellow rocketeer,
Homer "Sonny" Hickam