We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.
The best man at my wedding wasn't some highschool buddy of mine. It wasn't anyone from when I was growing up. It was a soldier in my platoon when I was stationed at Ft. Riley, who became my best friend. We talk to each other regularly. He's in Tennesee, going to college. And when I finally PCS back to the mainland, he'll be one of the first people my wife and I will visit.
The military does that to some people.