AUSTIN ROBERT SETMAJER

From the beginning, Austin just had something about him. It wasn’t just talent or charm, although he had both. It was presence. Even before the lights and cameras, before scripts and soundstages, he moved through life like someone meant to be remembered. He carried joy in his voice and curiosity in his eyes. People noticed. They always did.

He was a child actor, yes. Known to the world as Austin Majors. But at home, he was just Austin. A boy with an unstoppable imagination. A son whose laughter filled rooms. A kid who was always dreaming, always creating, always reaching for the next idea. He belonged to Los Angeles, but his heart reached much farther.

His childhood wasn’t only cameras and credits. It was also tents and trails, campfires and canteens. His dad remembers their time together in Boy Scouts. The two of them out in the wild, father and son, learning from the earth and from each other. If he could go back and do it all again, he would. Without hesitation. His words say it all. “Dad would go on even more Boy Scout trips with you if you were here.” The sentence holds grief and love side by side. It speaks to all the days that passed too fast and the ones they wish they could reclaim.

Austin earned the title of Eagle Scout. That was no small thing. It meant he was dedicated. Driven. He followed through. He gave his full self to what mattered, whether that was building a shelter, helping a stranger, or climbing toward a dream. There was honor in the way he moved through the world.

And as he grew, his creativity shifted forms. The actor became a producer. The boy with lines to memorize became a man with stories to tell through music. He found rhythm and sound, and through them, he found a new kind of voice. He didn’t stop creating. He just evolved. He poured himself into beats, into lyrics, into the kind of songs that speak without needing to explain. His music said what he sometimes couldn’t. It lives on now, long after the last note was played.

Still, for all he accomplished, the most lasting thing about Austin was not his résumé. It was his love. He was a son. Deeply loved. Still loved. His parents say it simply. “Your Dad and I love you and miss you.” And in those words is everything. All the days they had. All the days they didn’t.

His dad misses the everyday things. The meals. The music. The conversations that never had to go anywhere because they already meant everything. He misses being near him. Not just the big milestones, but the small, ordinary moments that now feel sacred.

Austin would want people to remember the truth of who he was. A child star, an Eagle Scout, a music producer, and above all, a force of energy and kindness. He made things better just by being in the room. He found the good in everything. He left pieces of himself in the people who loved him and in the work he left behind.

This isn’t an ending. Not really. His story continues. In memory. In music. In love.

He was here. He mattered and he always will.