For the Stidd family, every day is a battle.

Aaron, the youngest of the two Stidd sons, was hit Oct. 28 by an allegedly drunken driver while crossing Atherton Street at Beaver Avenue. The other victim of the crash, Richard Smith, was killed, and Aaron was rushed to Nittany Medical Center to fight for his life.

Now, the former Delta Upsilon fraternity rush chairman spends his days at Bryn Mawr Rehabilitation Hospital, enduring morning and afternoon therapy sessions during which he attempts to regain motor skills and learn to swallow again.

"We have to celebrate every little victory as a significant victory," Aaron's father, Jay Stidd, said.

A week after the accident, when Aaron survived a highly dangerous operation at Geisinger Medical Center in Danville that reduced cranial pressure by removing a fist-sized piece of his skull, now frozen in a Geisinger lab for reinsertion at a later date -- that was a victory.

When he was finally weaned off his ventilator a month after the accident, a harrowing but pivotal breakthrough that allowed him to breathe on his own -- that was a victory.

When he was finally transferred from Geisinger to Bryn Mawr Rehabiliation Hospital -- that was a victory.

But the victory his father talks about the most isn't any of those. Jay's most memorable victory took place on his own birthday, Jan. 12 -- the day Aaron took his first shower since the accident.

For the first time in 12 weeks, Aaron left his bedside, where nurses had been washing him daily since the accident. He was wheeled into a shower where he was then assisted in cleansing himself.

"They gave that boy a shower and when he came out -- you saw that look on his face, and you knew he was pleased," said Jay, his voice quivering with pride. "That was the best birthday present I ever had."

Aaron, a Christmas Day baby, recently turned 21.

"Being confined to bed...is not the way you'd want to spend any birthday, especially your 21st," Jay said.

To see Aaron Stidd today is to see a vibrant, fearless young man trapped inside a body that has been, to use Jay's words, "cheated."

In his speech therapy sessions, Aaron has made attempts to speak, but the only sound he can produce is the wheezing of forced air over his vocal chords, Jay said. As he attempts to pry his lips open with his mobile left hand, determined to speak again, Aaron's mother, Connie, and Jay stand by anxiously, hoping to hear their son say something.

"You can see that he's mad," Jay said. "He's fit to be tied."

Despite his condition, his parents say Aaron is capable of expressing his emotions.

"He talks to us through his eyes," Connie said. At one point during the therapy session, Aaron holds on to his mother's hand and appears to pull it toward his mouth to kiss it.

Connie recalls stopping short in the doorway to Aaron's room about 10 days ago to witness her son watching a basketball game. It was one of Aaron's "more alert" days, and he appeared to be intently following the action on the screen.

"We looked in there, and his eyes were so wide and bright, you would have sworn there was nothing wrong with him," Connie said.

During Penn State's recent Outback Bowl victory, Jay sat by Aaron's side and fed him play-by-play commentary.

Over the past seven weeks, the twice-daily therapy sessions have shown Aaron making gradual improvement, Jay said.

Some days, Aaron makes great strides. Other days, the battle is just too tough to wage. Jay said the doctors are not overly concerned with inconsistencies from day to day, as it's far more important to know simply what he is becoming capable of. And so far, since arriving at Bryn Mawr, Aaron has been moving forward each week.

"He's used to fighting, and he's got a struggle right now," said Jay. "We have hope --our approach is that the glass is half full."

While Aaron continues to progress, there is still a lot of ground to cover.

Jay said the doctors told him that, at this point, Aaron has completed the first mile of his impending marathon.

"He is, at this point, totally dependent. He can breathe on his own, but he's dependent for everything else," Jay said.

Jay likens Aaron's current status to that of a newborn. He said Aaron is capable of recognizing the identity of persons entering the room. When his fraternity brothers visited him after the accident, Jay remembers Aaron attempting to shake his brothers' hands and reach his arm around their shoulders.

Aaron still has not spoken and, though his left hand can move and grab onto things, his right side has not "woken up yet."

After losing 50 pounds since the accident, Aaron's body weight now appears to have stabilized.

Every day, there is an individual assessment of his development by each of his three doctors, and at the end of every week, the doctors tally their assessments to gauge his development. Jay said each week Aaron's composite numerical score has increased by at least one point.

His therapy sessions begin by transporting him from his bedside to a table in the rehab gym in his hospital wing. Each time he is moved -- from bed to wheelchair and wheelchair to table -- he dons a foam helmet to protect the vulnerable "soft spot" on his head from the operation. The helmet has been fitted with an official Penn State stripe and decal.

Physical therapy consists of moving Aaron's body in ways that attempt to strain it back to normalcy. His primary therapist, Jason Frank, assumes what appears to be a stranglehold position, then gently pushes Aaron's head to the side until it becomes painful.

Frank says Aaron is gaining more range of motion in his hips, knees, pelvis and ankles. More movement in his neck will allow him to look up to see other people.

The other half of Aaron's day is consumed by occupational therapy, though the real use of these sessions is still a ways off for Aaron, Jay said. During these sessions, therapists work with Aaron to accomplish everyday tasks, such as holding the electric razor he shaves with to his face.

As for Aaron's parents, they refuse to miss a moment of the battle. They spend an average of two days back at their Huntington home per week and the rest of their time is spent by Aaron's side in Bryn Mawr.

"We're living out of a suitcase," Jay said plainly, preferring to deflect all attention back to his son.

Aaron's older brother comes up every weekend from Washington, D.C., to be with him as well.

"The sun comes up in the morning and it goes down at night," Connie said. "Sometimes we know what day it is, sometimes we don't. As long as we know what time he's scheduled for therapy, that's all that matters."

Jay spoke of a moment alone with Aaron when he knelt next to his bed during tough times at Geisinger.

"I told him, 'If you fight and live, I'll do all I can for you,'" he recalled, muscling through his words.

Still unsure of Aaron's medical and financial future but set on making good on his promise, recently Jay has begun the process of applying for social program funding on Aaron's behalf.

A Penn State alumnus himself, Jay stresses how the Penn State family has been instrumental in supporting Aaron throughout his recovery as well. Examples of the support include a fundraiser by Delta Upsilon responsible for the "Stidd Strong" bracelet on Aaron's wrist, and Jay said not a week goes by that he doesn't receive a card that starts by saying "You don't know me but ... "

Within the past week, his parents said the uncle of Penn State safety Anthony Scirotto showed up to present Aaron with a Penn State nylon windbreaker.

"Penn State family does mean something, it does exist. You can't put your hands around it, but it's there," said Jay.

Three months after the accident, Aaron and his family are still taking it one victory at a time -- no matter if that triumph is increased mobility in his ankle or the ability to pick up red and blue cones on command.

"It's been an emotional roller coaster -- more downs than ups," said Jay of his family's trying time. "But the ups have been so good."

"They told us that they didn't think he would live, and he did. Now he's doing a lot of things they said he wouldn't do," Connie said.