He's only 12 years old, Tybre Faw, but he had met John Lewis, and like John Lewis, he has also marched across the bridge in Selma.
Meanwhile, closer to home, other landmarks. As John Lewis is laid to rest, one here turns 8 years old and another turns 15. The trot of life continues, seeming at times like a full-on gallop, and seeming also then like a snail's snotty crawl.
I had met some recent family losses with anger, not being, maybe, able to cope any other way, maybe in a sense, too hung-up on living vicariously, enjoying the tales of the adventures of others: people who lived hard and went fast, and inevitably, were gone too soon.
The loss: a man who swam without direction for a few years, unsuccessful with his education, finding himself destitute for a few years. In that time? He had his own vicarious method, inventing a daydream, a vision, of a life to be had later by him. And then, things began to fall in place, with love and a middling career, but its the old story that working for you family sometimes means you're too busy working for them to spend time with them.
And it was ugly when it fall apart, and the man of the house spun out of control, finding himself unable to fill the void that was left in his heart when they split-up.
But, in the meantime, while that one was daydreaming of his life to come, a life he would only enjoy for months, the rest of the world was busily hustling along, and there were others coming down the pipe, young ones.
And they are coming, ready to take their part in a world that will look somewhat different to all of us, yet eerily familiar.