Oh God, how cute is this? The greatest grandpa ever! 🇺🇸 Ivanka Trump just shared a video of her son Theo debuting his first ORIGINAL composition for Grandpa last night at The White House. 😊 Posted just hours ago, it’s already racked up half a million views. You have to watch this. The video is below 👇🙏

President Donald Trump’s first daughter, Ivanka Trump, delighted her fans on X (formerly Twitter) with a

touching new video of her son, Theodore “Theo” Kushner, spending a memorable time with his grandfather inside the White House.

Theo, the youngest of Ivanka and Jared Kushner’s three children, is shown in the brief video sitting at a grand piano and meticulously playing a tune while President Trump looks on proudly from a distance.

A unique behind-the-scenes look into the Trump family’s private life while they were in Washington is provided by this sweet family moment, which shows the two bonding over music.

President Trump says, “You’re good,” in a proud, grandfatherly tone, as he puts a hand on his grandson’s shoulder and smiles as Theo finishes his piece. The straightforward, sincere conversation swiftly won over hearts on social media, with many people complimenting the former president and his grandson on their lovely relationship.

Only a few months before his grandfather’s victory in the 2016 presidential election, Theodore James Kushner was born in March of that year. As a senior advisor in her father’s administration, Ivanka has frequently

discussed the significance of striking a balance between her public responsibilities and her role as a mother to Arabella, Joseph, and Theo.

Events like this serve as a reminder to the public of the Trump family’s close familial ties behind the scenes, even though they have frequently made headlines for political reasons.

Well-wishers poured their best wishes into Ivanka’s post’s comments section, describing the video as “adorable,” “precious,” and “a beautiful moment in American history.”

Ivanka, who has mostly distanced herself from public politics in recent years to prioritize her family, occasionally posts updates about her kids, frequently emphasizing their accomplishments in school, outdoor activities, and musical interests

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Nobody expected fifty bikers at my son\’s funeral. Least of all the four teenagers who put him there. I\’m not a crier. Twenty-six years as a high school janitor taught me to keep my emotions locked down tight. But when that first Harley rumbled into the cemetery parking lot, followed by another, then another, until the whole place vibrated with thunder—that\’s when I finally broke. My fourteen-year-old boy, Mikey, had hanged himself in our garage. The note he left mentioned four classmates by name. \”I can\’t take it anymore, Dad,\” he\’d written. \”They won\’t stop. Every day they say I should kill myself. Now they\’ll be happy.\” The police called it \”unfortunate but not criminal.\” The school principal offered \”thoughts and prayers\” then suggested we have the funeral during school hours to \”avoid potential incidents.\” I\’d never felt so powerless. Couldn\’t protect my boy while he was alive. Couldn\’t get justice after he was gone. Then Sam showed up at our door. Six-foot-three, leather vest, gray beard down to his chest. I recognized him—he pumped gas at the station where Mikey and I would stop for slushies after his therapy appointments. \”Heard about your boy,\” he said, standing awkward on our porch. \”My nephew did the same thing three years back. Different school, same reason.\” I didn\’t know what to say, so I just nodded. \”Thing is,\” Sam continued, looking past me like the words hurt to say, \”nobody stood up for my nephew. Not at the end, not after. Nobody made those kids face what they did.\” He handed me a folded paper with a phone number. \”You call if you want us there. No trouble, just… presence.\” I didn\’t call. Not at first. But the night before the funeral, I found Mikey\’s journal. Pages of torment. Screenshots of text messages telling my gentle, struggling son to \”do everyone a favor and end it.\” My hands shook as I dialed the number. \”How many people you expecting at this funeral?\” Sam asked after I explained. \”Maybe thirty. Family, some teachers. None of his classmates.\” \”The ones who bullied him—they coming?\” \”Principal said they\’re planning to, with their parents. To \’show support.\’\” The words tasted like acid. Sam was quiet for a moment. \”We\’ll be there at nine. You won\’t have to worry about a thing.\” I didn\’t understand what he meant until I saw them the next morning—a sea of leather vests, weathered faces, and solemn eyes. The Hell\’s Angels patches visible as they formed two lines leading to the small chapel, creating a corridor of protection. The funeral director approached me, panic in his eyes. \”Sir, there are… numerous motorcycle enthusiasts arriving. Should I call the police?\” \”They\’re invited guests,\” I said. When the four boys arrived with their parents, confused expressions turned to fear as they saw the bikers. Sam stepped forward and…. Check out the first comment to read the full story

Nobody expected fifty bikers at my son’s funeral. Least of all the four teenagers who put him there. I’m not a crier. Twenty-six years as a high…