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HIS 2 KIDS — AGES 7 AND 5 — DON’T HAVE PHONES. DON’T HAVE IPADS. AND HE WANTS TO KEEP IT THAT WAY. Jeremy Allen White just wrapped 5 seasons of The Bear. Now his next role hits even closer to real life — in Aaron Sorkin’s The Social Reckoning, he plays the journalist who exposed Facebook’s own documents showing the company knew its platform was hurting kids. But what really stood out wasn’t the movie. At The Bear’s final season premiere in Manhattan, White was asked about the U.K. banning social media for children under 16. He didn’t dodge it. Called it “great.” Said the addiction is real and things are moving too fast. Then he quietly shared that his own two daughters — 7 and 5 — don’t have a phone or an iPad. And he wants to keep it that way as long as he can. No big speech. No campaign. Just a dad standing in a room full of cameras, saying what a lot of parents feel but rarely say out loud.

Jeremy Allen White on Parenting, Phones, and Why He Wants to Keep His Kids Offline

Jeremy Allen White has spent years playing characters caught in pressure, noise, and emotional chaos. After wrapping five seasons of The Bear, he is now stepping into a role that lands even closer to real life: the journalist in Aaron Sorkin’s The Social Reckoning, a story tied to the documents that raised serious concerns about how social media affects children.

But at the final season premiere of The Bear in Manhattan, the conversation moved away from the screen and toward something more personal. White was asked about the United Kingdom banning social media for children under 16, and he did not hesitate. He called it “great” and said the addiction is real. His answer felt calm, direct, and honest.

Then came the detail that made the moment resonate with so many parents: Jeremy Allen White shared that his two daughters, ages 7 and 5, do not have phones or iPads. He said he wants to keep it that way for as long as possible.

“The addiction is real, and things are moving too fast,” Jeremy Allen White said, offering a simple view that many families quietly recognize.

There was no speech, no dramatic setup, and no attempt to turn the moment into a campaign. It was just a father answering a question in a room full of cameras. That honesty is part of why the comments stood out. In an era when many families feel pressure to hand over devices early, White’s approach felt steady and human.

A Parent’s Choice in a Digital Age

For many parents, the question is not whether technology has value. It is how much, how soon, and at what cost. Phones and tablets can help with learning and entertainment, but they can also create tension around attention, boundaries, and family time. Jeremy Allen White’s comments reflected that uncertainty without sounding extreme.

His decision to keep his daughters away from phones and iPads is not a rule for everyone. It is a personal boundary, one shaped by concern and experience. That is what made it relatable. He was not telling other parents what to do. He was simply describing what feels right for his own family.

Why His Answer Hit Home

What made this moment memorable was the contrast. White is known for intense roles and major projects, yet the most meaningful part of the evening may have been his quiet statement about parenting. In a culture that often rewards constant connection, his choice to slow things down felt refreshing.

Many parents understand the challenge of raising children in a world built around screens. Jeremy Allen White did not claim to have all the answers. He just admitted that he sees the risks and wants to protect his children from moving too fast into a digital life they do not need yet.

Sometimes the most powerful statement is the simplest one. In this case, it was a dad saying that childhood can wait a little longer before the glow of a screen takes over.

 

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IN 2008, 76,000 PEOPLE WATCHED OBAMA WALK OUT TO “CITY OF BLINDING LIGHTS.” ON JUNE 18, BONO SANG IT AGAIN — BUT THIS TIME, HE CHANGED THE WORDS FOR MICHELLE. Bono walked onto the stage in Chicago and told the crowd he was there to represent “all the Irish.” The Edge picked up an acoustic guitar, Jacknife Lee sat behind the keys — and they played “City of Blinding Lights.” For 18 years, this one song followed Barack Obama through every moment that mattered — the 2008 DNC in front of 76,000 people, his 2009 inauguration, his farewell address. But this time, the words weren’t the same. “You look so beautiful, Michelle,” Bono sang. Then he looked toward the row of former presidents sitting right there — Biden, Clinton, Bush — and started improvising: “In the company of 46, 42, and 43… hold tight to democracy… isn’t she lovely, 44 and the family.” He ended with a line borrowed from The Beatles: “Michelle, ma belle.” Obama sat there, visibly moved. 18 years, and that song still hits the same way.

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32 YEARS. SHE HEARD THE WHOLE WORLD SING HER STORY — AND NEVER SAID A WORD. Christmas Eve, 1975. Peoria, Illinois. Dan Fogelberg went out for whipping cream. A few blocks away, his high school sweetheart Jill Anderson was picking up eggnog. The only store open — Convenient Food Mart on Abington Hill. They hadn’t seen each other since Woodruff High, class of ’69. She didn’t recognize him at first. When she did, she spilled her purse. They tried to find a bar — nothing open. So they bought a six-pack and sat in her cold car for two hours, talking about everything they’d become. But here’s what still gets me — the snow actually turned to rain on his drive home that night. Not a metaphor. It really happened. Five years later, he wrote it all into “Same Old Lang Syne.” Changed only two things: her green eyes became blue, her husband’s real job. Everything else was true. The song peaked at #9 on Billboard. Jill heard it driving to work one morning. Recognized every word. Said nothing — for 32 years. Not until Fogelberg passed from cancer in 2007 did she tell her story. “It’s a memory that I cherish,” she said.

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12 SOLD-OUT NIGHTS AT WEMBLEY. 90,000 FANS A NIGHT. AND HARRY STYLES CHOSE TO PLAY FOR 2,700. Right in the middle of his record-breaking Wembley run, Harry Styles stepped off the biggest stage in London and onto one of the smallest. On June 16, he walked into the 2,700-seat Royal Festival Hall, sat at a piano, and opened with “Boyfriends” — backed by Jules Buckley’s 50-piece orchestra and a full gospel choir. Every arrangement was brand new, written just for this one night. The setlist told the real story, though. “Matilda.” “Two Ghosts.” “Fine Line.” New tracks from his latest album. And to close it all — a full orchestral cover of Simon & Garfunkel’s “Bridge Over Troubled Water.” When the last note landed, the room held the kind of silence you never hear at Wembley. This was Meltdown, the artist-curated festival once led by David Bowie and Patti Smith. Harry Styles was the 31st curator. And this was his only night on that stage.

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IN 2008, 76,000 PEOPLE WATCHED OBAMA WALK OUT TO “CITY OF BLINDING LIGHTS.” ON JUNE 18, BONO SANG IT AGAIN — BUT THIS TIME, HE CHANGED THE WORDS FOR MICHELLE. Bono walked onto the stage in Chicago and told the crowd he was there to represent “all the Irish.” The Edge picked up an acoustic guitar, Jacknife Lee sat behind the keys — and they played “City of Blinding Lights.” For 18 years, this one song followed Barack Obama through every moment that mattered — the 2008 DNC in front of 76,000 people, his 2009 inauguration, his farewell address. But this time, the words weren’t the same. “You look so beautiful, Michelle,” Bono sang. Then he looked toward the row of former presidents sitting right there — Biden, Clinton, Bush — and started improvising: “In the company of 46, 42, and 43… hold tight to democracy… isn’t she lovely, 44 and the family.” He ended with a line borrowed from The Beatles: “Michelle, ma belle.” Obama sat there, visibly moved. 18 years, and that song still hits the same way.

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32 YEARS. SHE HEARD THE WHOLE WORLD SING HER STORY — AND NEVER SAID A WORD. Christmas Eve, 1975. Peoria, Illinois. Dan Fogelberg went out for whipping cream. A few blocks away, his high school sweetheart Jill Anderson was picking up eggnog. The only store open — Convenient Food Mart on Abington Hill. They hadn’t seen each other since Woodruff High, class of ’69. She didn’t recognize him at first. When she did, she spilled her purse. They tried to find a bar — nothing open. So they bought a six-pack and sat in her cold car for two hours, talking about everything they’d become. But here’s what still gets me — the snow actually turned to rain on his drive home that night. Not a metaphor. It really happened. Five years later, he wrote it all into “Same Old Lang Syne.” Changed only two things: her green eyes became blue, her husband’s real job. Everything else was true. The song peaked at #9 on Billboard. Jill heard it driving to work one morning. Recognized every word. Said nothing — for 32 years. Not until Fogelberg passed from cancer in 2007 did she tell her story. “It’s a memory that I cherish,” she said.

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12 SOLD-OUT NIGHTS AT WEMBLEY. 90,000 FANS A NIGHT. AND HARRY STYLES CHOSE TO PLAY FOR 2,700. Right in the middle of his record-breaking Wembley run, Harry Styles stepped off the biggest stage in London and onto one of the smallest. On June 16, he walked into the 2,700-seat Royal Festival Hall, sat at a piano, and opened with “Boyfriends” — backed by Jules Buckley’s 50-piece orchestra and a full gospel choir. Every arrangement was brand new, written just for this one night. The setlist told the real story, though. “Matilda.” “Two Ghosts.” “Fine Line.” New tracks from his latest album. And to close it all — a full orchestral cover of Simon & Garfunkel’s “Bridge Over Troubled Water.” When the last note landed, the room held the kind of silence you never hear at Wembley. This was Meltdown, the artist-curated festival once led by David Bowie and Patti Smith. Harry Styles was the 31st curator. And this was his only night on that stage.

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A 15-MILE STRETCH OF HIGHWAY ONCE HONORING VIETNAM VETERANS NOW CARRIES A NEW NAME — AND NOT EVERYONE IS AT PEACE WITH IT. A portion of Vietnam Veterans Boulevard in Sumner County, Tennessee, has just been designated as the Charlie Kirk Memorial Highway. The signs went up this week. State Rep. Johnny Garrett called it a tribute to the man who “awakened a renewed love of country in young Americans.” Riley Gaines, who lives along the route, said she drives that stretch almost every day. But not everyone felt the same way when they saw those signs. Barry Rice — president of Tennessee’s Vietnam Veterans council and a Sumner County vet — said nobody reached out to a single veteran before the change. No phone call. No courtesy. “It’s uncalled for,” he said. And he stressed it had nothing to do with Kirk personally. Kirk was assassinated at Utah Valley University in September 2025. He was 31. Over 100,000 people attended his memorial in Arizona. His name now lives on a road that already carried a different kind of honor.