He is a short haired, tightly-muscled kid who, under normal circumstances is considered by society a half-man half boy.
Not yet dry behind the ears. Not old enough to buy a beer, but old enough to die for his country. He never really cared much for work and he would rather wax his own car than wash his fathers, but hasn't collected unemployment either.
He's a recent high school graduate and he was probably an average student, pursued some form of sport, drives a 10 year old jalopy, and has a steady girlfriend that either broke up with him when he left or swears to be waiting when he returns from a world half away. He listens to rock and roll, hip hop, rap or jazz and swing and 155mm howitzers. He is 10 or 15 lbs lighter now than he was when he was at home because he is working or fighting from before dawn to after dusk. He has trouble spelling... thus letter writing is a pain in the ass for him, but he can field strip a rifle in 30 seconds and reassemble it in less time in the dark.
He can recite the nomenclature of a machine gun or grenade launcher and can use either one effectively if he must.
He digs foxholes and latrines and can apply first aid like a professional.
He can march until he is told to stop.
He obeys orders instantly and without hesitation, but he is not without spirt or individual dignity.
He is self-sufficient. He has 2 sets of fatigues: he washes one and wears the other.
He keeps his canteens full and his feet dry. He sometimes forgets to brush his teeth, but never to clean his rifle.
He can cook his own meals, mend his own clothes, and fix his own hurts.
If you're thirsty he'll share his water with you, if you're hungry his food. He'll even split his ammunition with you in the midst of battle when you run low. He has learned to use his hands like weapons and weapons like they were his hands. He can save your life or take it, because that is his job. He will often do twice the work of a civilian, draw half the pay, and still find ironic humor in it all.
He has seen more suffering and death than he should have ever in his short lifetime. He has stood atop mountains of bodies, and helped to create them. He has wept in public and in private, for friends who have fallen in combat and is unashamed. He feels every note of the national anthem vibrate through his body while at rigid atttention, while tempering the burning desire to square away those around him who haven't bothered to stand, remove their hat, or even stop talking.
In an odd twist, day in and day out, far from home, he defends his country. Just as his father, grandfather, and great-grandfather, he is paying the price for freedom. Beardless or not, he is not a boy. He is the american fighting man that has kept this country free for over 200 years, he has asked nothing in return, except friendship and understanding. Remember him always, because he has our respect and admiration.