LeBeau
You're an open book, LeBeau. But even you have your secrets. Just not from me.
Your passions are there for all to see. Your country, your food, women, your family and your friends.
They're the same thing, really—your family and friends. Because more than anyone, you have made us all brothers.
You gather us close for meals. You look after everyone. You keep us nourished in more ways than one, with your fiery convictions and deep beliefs constantly reminding us what we're fighting for. No one could miss that.
But I see more. I see that you're the first one up every morning and the last one to bed.
I see that you're the first to volunteer and the last to back down.
I see that you're the smallest but also the toughest.
You're not the most complicated man on the team—I think we all know who gets that prize—but you are the most intense.
When you wake in the morning, you check on your friends. You know almost before they do whether they have slept well or fitfully, whether their day will be easy or hard.
When you go to sleep at night, you check on them again. You count them off and make sure they are comfortable.
You don't look at another man and see him as larger than yourself. You don't see size at all. You see something else.
You see need. You see determination. You see fear and you see courage. And you shrug. Of course, you help them see, all these parts go together.
You take care of everyone, but one man is special to you. Because you've been together longest.
Because you're exact opposites and yet the most alike. Because somehow you understand one another.
Some people look and smirk at you two and think they know what draws you together. But it's not that. Not at all.
You're tough with him, yet you're tender with him. And somehow he takes it from you and draws strength. No one else could get away with what you do; not with him. You've made yourself the brother he looks up to, all sixty inches of you.
