Edward G. Kardos
Yours, Aiden
is about self-enlightenment...about friendship. Because the themes are timeless, this story unfolds and untangles for today. Set in the 70's at a Catholic boys boarding school in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley, Sean tells his story of delineation.
Interrupted from a one dimensional and narrow path, Sean’s life changed. Tested his senior year like no other time in his life, Sean finally made sense of his experiences but it came with a price. It took uniting his past and present, two decades later, to complete his transformation.
Aiden’s zeal and philosophies of life take Sean by surprise. At first skeptical, Sean soon begins to appreciate Aiden’s ways and the two become friends.
Aiden keeps a promise to himself at the very spot that once inspired him. Sean, too, finds peace there. Sean moves from a typical boy to a man who learns to listen to himself. He learns to value each moment. A visit to his school many years later helps Sean to piece together fragments of his life to begin anew.
Each solitary path we travel, like Sean, comes together at the same place. That is, if we are willing to look within.
Edward G. Kardos grew up in a middle class Catholic family in Richmond, Virginia where he attended a Catholic college prep school. He later lived in the Shenandoah Valley where he gained an appreciation for nature.
He earned his BS in Communication Arts from James Madison University in Harrisonburg, Virginia. Ed works in educational philanthropy and is Director of Development for the School of Nursing at Virginia Commonwealth University. He received two regional awards for promotional writing from the Council for the Advancement and Support of Education.
His view of spirituality, friendships and connection to the world inspired him to write Yours, Aiden.
Ed and his wife, Kristin, live in Richmond where they raise their children Zach, Stephanie, Mary and Elizabeth.
I knocked on the door, but no one answered. I was sure that Father Meinrad told me the right room number. Turning the knob, I did not know what to expect or whom I would find. With hesitation, I wrapped my head around the unwieldy oak door to take a look. No one was there. Creeping in, I dropped my duffel bag and knapsack on the bare tile floor. Both oversized windows framed enormous box fans hurling winds in competing directions. Thinking I was intruding, I considered going down to the T.V. room to wait a while but, with a moment of certainty, I thought otherwise. After all this was my room, too.
Looking around and disturbing nothing, I began to size up this guy whom I would be living with the next two school terms. He tacked pictures of people, presumably his family, on the wall fluttering above one dresser. Tucked partly behind his mirror was a recent news clipping of Mark Spitz winning his seventh Olympic gold medal. Stirring to one side was an obscure obituary of someone named Sir Francis Chichester who at sixty-five, I found by hurriedly reading the clipping, was known for sailing around the world alone in his ketch called Gipsy Moth IV. I did not want to disturb anything, but I wanted to know everything. On his stereo was a new album by Don McLean called American Pie. It looked as if my roommate had the volume dial up about as far as it could go. A good thing the power was off. Mountains of books were everywhere except the bookcase in this twelve-by-something room. Zen, sports figures, art history and architectural design, you name it, he had books on a variety of subjects. Unorthodox bookmarks were hanging from the pages. Spoons, popsicle sticks and a sock accounted for a few. A T-shirt, gym shorts and an assortment of tennis shoes were strewn about as well as a school necktie and khaki pants. Although at first glance the cell, as the monks called them, was a whirlwind of chaotic adolescent prep school life, I sensed there was a kind of order to things. An order that only the caretaker might know the code. A code that I did not quite care to crack, at least not today. Beginning to act a bit like a voyeur made me feel strange. I did not like feeling this way, but I was intrigued with him and speculated if I would get along with him. If what he collects and what he reads and how he keeps it all was any indication, I knew the year would be horrendously long.
He had both beds impeccably made, therefore, there were no clues to which bunk was his. Feeling like a stranger did not do much for me considering that I would be spending this year trying to get into Georgetown next fall. For some reason not knowing where I would lay my head tonight was bothersome.
Without warning, the door flew open nearly blowing off the hinges. Then my uneasiness escalated and my heart raced faster than Spitz’s Olympic times. Like the hinges on the door, I sensed things were not going to be secure the way I was used to, like it or not. I did not know why, but my gut told me that I better take my steps cautiously.
