My brother can't talk at all, but he survived. He can make a tight rack, roll smiley face socks, and roll a shirt so it isn't a dead fish. He has discovered that he is capable of getting up at 0600 hours and only taking the time to put on his shoes before participating in PT. He can eat without taking his eyes off his plate and pivot his corners while drilling. For eight days, he was yelled, growled, and scowled at. He had his rack "flipped" when it wasn't acceptable, clothes thrown out of drawers when they didn't meet encampment standards.
But he also learned that drinking two Dr. Peppers in an hour makes him extremely hyper. And that at encampment dances, girls are scarce and must be searched for. He can do more pushups now, and flexing his arms produces a startling buff result. And he also discovered the value of a familiar face. One particular staff member was shouting and kicking things in his frustration, and my brother didn't care, because he recognized the guy.
He graduated yesterday with grand ceremony. Here's a picture of Foxtrot Flight:
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