Warmly, Parent

The American education system, as explained through a series of emails.

Fortune Magazine reported last year that six in ten employers fired their Gen Z hires within months of bringing them on. Three-quarters of those companies called their recent graduate hires unsatisfactory. Half cited no motivation or initiative. The rest pointed to poor communication, lateness, and inappropriate dress.

Now, Michigan State University offers a course that will show students how to tell when the person you’re talking to has stopped listening.

The class is for college credit.

We are teaching college graduates—people who can legally vote, sign contracts, and die for their country—to read a room.

A room.

Your dog has that skill.

TikTok teacher CoachPhilly has 428,000 followers and is admittedly my favorite doomscroll. He sits at his desk, camera angled just right, and reads outloud the emails he gets from his students’ parents.

Here’s one:

“Good afternoon. I understand Mason fell asleep in class. I’d like to provide context. He had football practice, youth group, two snacks, and stayed up until one thirty a.m., ‘thinking.’ Exhaustion is not defiance. It is growth. Thank you for understanding his journey. Blessings, Mom.”

Then there’s this parent:

“Good afternoon. As taxpayers, we simply want to ensure our contributions are resulting in a positive academic experience for Elizabeth. Currently, she has a ‘C’. We would appreciate clarification on how our taxes align with this grade. Thank you, Parent.”

There are always those parents who let the teacher know he’s really in trouble by CCing the entire planet:

“Hi. I’ve taken some time to reflect and wanted to share a few concerns. One, the seating chart seems emotionally restrictive. Two, the lighting in the classroom feels aggressive. Three, my daughter said you look ‘disappointed’. She is very perceptive. We are simply advocating for a more nurturing environment. I am CCing the counselor, assistant principal, and my sister who homeschools.” (Coach turns his head and stares at the camera and says, “Warmly, Parent.” Then he forces a smile.

Clearly, this email should be framed in the Smithsonian or taught in law schools as an example of a document that is simultaneously a grievance, a threat, and a confession.

Then, there are those parents who take issue with the content being taught, nevermind the child will see it on a state test:

“Mr. Phillips, my daughter mentioned you are teaching about the Great Depression. While we understand history is important, I would prefer she focus on more positive parts of American history. She came home ‘somber’. We try to keep things uplifting in our household. Can you provide a syllabus of upcoming topics so we can prepare emotionally? Thank you, Danielle.”

The emails are funny until you realize they are describing the system we built.

Idrees Kahloon wrote in The Atlantic last fall that the past decade may rank as the worst in the history of American education.

By 2024, forty percent of fourth graders were reading below basic. Not below grade level. Below basic—meaning they couldn’t follow the main idea of a text or pull out facts someone had underlined for them. Graduation rates kept climbing. “A” averages kept climbing, and the actual ability to read kept falling.

Kahloon traces it to 2013—before COVID, before the phone panic—and something called the low expectations theory. The philosophy became “meet them where they are.” You meet a struggling reader where they are, so you can move them forward.

That rarely happened.

TikTok teacher Mrssharonmichele puts it plain: teachers aren’t supposed to meet them where they are. We’re supposed to get them where they’re going. Instead, the whole system got redesigned around the lowest level in the room.

A generation of children grew up believing that effort was the same as achievement. That showing up—or not showing up, if exhaustion was growth—counted. That the feeling of doing the work mattered as much as doing the work. They were given A’s for it. They believed they were leaders when they bossed their classmates around. They thought the lighting felt aggressive.

And then we handed them a diploma and pointed them toward an office.

You’ve met the parents. Now take a gander at some of the emails CoachPhilly received from his students:

“Philly, I can’t come to class today because my little brother put my car keys in the freezer. I don’t know why they’re frozen solid.”

And this one:

“Philly, is there any extra credit I can do to bring my grade from a D to an A? My mom is being a D1 hater.”

Or this one:

“Coach, if I hypothetically left my project at home, but I also hypothetically didn’t actually start it yet, does that count as late?”

I like this one:

“Mr. Phillips, I didn’t do my homework because my wifi went out. By ‘went out’ I mean I unplugged it by accident while vacuuming my room. By ‘vacuuming,’ I mean I was playing Fortnite and kicked over the router.”

But this is my favorite:

“Coach, my grade says 62 percent, but I feel like that’s not accurate to my effort.”

This is the thesis statement of the entire American education system since 2013. It should be part of the school’s mission statement.

A TikTok creator called Teacher,Teacher, posted a video reacting to a Wall Street Journal article in which a corporate manager described what this looks like on the job.

A Gen Z employee was told they were being fired for not taking initiative. The response from the employee? “You don’t pay me to take initiative.”

Either the employee doesn’t know what the word means, Teacher,Teacher said, or they’ve learned they don’t need to because they’ll be pushed along anyway.

One is a vocabulary problem. The other is a societal problem.

Another employee hadn’t finished a project. Didn’t know how to do it. Never asked the boss. Never Googled it. Never sought any information at all.

In the year of our Lord 2026, with the internet in their pocket that has YouTube videos that will literally teach you how to build a house, they sat there all day.

The manager told the employee, “You don’t take the initiative to do your job. You can’t retain the information on how to do the job. You get very emotional when any type of discomfort presents itself, and you call out sick all the time. You’re fired.”

Teacher,Teacher nodded. “Kids will just sit there if they don’t know what to do. They won’t ask the teacher, they won’t ask anyone around them. They will just sit there,” she said.

Families take them on vacation during school. Mental health days. Screens since before they could read. And many won’t work at all because they know they’re going to be moved to the next grade regardless.

Do not be fooled. The system is working exactly as designed.

CoachPhilly is still receiving emails. Here’s a gem:

“Dear Mr. Phillips, Ethan said the class went outside today and that it was windy. I checked the weather app, and winds were reported at seven miles per hour. I’m just wondering what the threshold for too breezy is. Ethan’s hair was noticeably displaced when he came home, and this caused him significant emotional turbulence. Looking forward to your clarification on wind policy. Sincerely, Dad.”

This one sums up decades of damage:

“Good evening, Coach Phillips. Sophia mentioned she received a ‘great job’ sticker, while another student received a ‘superstar’ sticker. Is there a rubric that differentiates these two honors? Sophia is concerned that she may be operating at only 87 percent superstar capacity. Please advise on how we can elevate her sticker trajectory. Best regards, Mom.”

Sticker trajectory. Wind policy. And now, comfort scrolling.

“Coach Phillips, my child mentioned phones must be put away during the school day because of a ‘school and state policy’. While we undertand some policies, this one we disagree with. Phones are an important emotional support tool. Is there a compromise that allows for occasional comfort scrolling? Best, Mom”

From sticker trajectory to wind policy to comfort scrolling, it’s no wonder Gen Z is getting canned on the job in record numbers. Mom and Dad aren’t there to explain in a nicely worded email their child’s lack of interest in the world of work.

Warmly, Carol.