GenXReflects

E.T. and the bike and moon scene

I have always loved that image of E.T. and the bike flying across the moon because, as a Gen X kid, nothing felt freer than riding my bike, wind in my face, imagining I could lift off and soar into the stars.

That moment on screen was more than a fantasy to me. It was a mirror. I was not closely supervised growing up. Like many in my generation, I was a latchkey kid. Both of my parents worked hard. My father was an airline mechanic, and my mother was a licensed practical nurse. They worked long hours, trying to make ends meet in the uneven rhythm of an early 1980s economy. Home was often quiet, and the fridge was never overflowing, but we made do. We cooked for ourselves, filled the silence with television light, and learned independence not through choice but through necessity.

My bike was my escape. It did not matter that I was not rich, that my jeans were hand-me-downs, or that home often felt empty. When I got on that bike, I became weightless. The world expanded around me. I rode down cracked sidewalks and over dirt mounds that felt like mountains. I disappeared into the woods where the light softened, and everything smelled of earth and pine. There was no helmet, no schedule, and no one watching. Just the hum of the chain, the rhythm of gravel under the tires, and the thrill of being in motion.

That feeling was my first real taste of freedom. It was not about money or privilege. It was the kind of freedom that comes when you realize that no one is deciding for you, and the open road belongs to whoever is brave enough to ride it.

When E.T. came out, it cracked something open inside me. For the first time, I saw my kind of kid on screen. Not the polished or the privileged, but the scrappy and curious. The ones who found magic in everyday things. That flying bike scene broke through the monotony of struggle. It gave me something to dream about. I understood that you did not need much to feel infinite.

That movie was about friendship and faith, but to me it was also about survival. It showed me that imagination could lift you up when the world felt heavy.

I can still remember the smell of dirt and pine in those woods where I used to wander. I remember the light filtering through the branches, the hum of cicadas, and the quiet thrill of knowing that no one knew exactly where I was. That solitude shaped me as much as any classroom or stage ever did. It taught me imagination, self-reliance, and the power of stillness. It showed me that beauty often lives just beyond the edge of where others tell you to stop.

As an adult, I often think about that girl on the bike. I wonder if she knew how much those small moments of freedom would matter later, when life became more complicated.

I did not have wealth or luxury, but I had wonder. I had motion. I could escape through imagination. And I had a movie that told me ordinary kids could do extraordinary things.

Even now, when I hear that familiar John Williams theme, something inside me rises. It is not just nostalgia. It is gratitude.

Gratitude for the dirt roads that taught me resilience.
Gratitude for the empty house that taught me independence.
Gratitude for the freedom to ride away and come home again.

Because in those moments, I was not lonely.
I was learning to fly.

#GenXReflects #ET #80sChildhood #FreedomToFly #LatchkeyLife #Imagination #Resilience