What to Expect When You Introduce Your Kid to Club Volleyball: A Parent’s Real Experience
It was 6:12 a.m. last February when I pulled into the pothole-ridden parking lot of the gym on the edge of town, coffee sloshing over the edge of my travel mug onto my jeans. My 12-year-old Lila was slouched in the backseat, one knee pad slipped down around her ankle, still half-asleep after I dragged her out of bed 20 minutes earlier. I’d heard all the warnings before we signed up: club volleyball eats up your weekends, it costs a fortune, it turns fun into a second job for kids who just want to hit a ball around. I was half-convinced I’d be driving back home that morning with a kid in tears and a new hobby to cross off the list.
Lila had played rec volleyball for two years at the city park, and for the last six months she’d been complaining that half the girls on her team didn’t show up to practice, and the games never felt fast enough. “I want to play with people who actually care,” she’d said every night at dinner for a month, until I finally filled out the tryout form. I wasn’t expecting her to make it—most of the girls trying out had been playing club for years already. But she did, and suddenly I was the parent of a club volleyball kid, figuring it out as I went.
I hung around the bleachers that first morning while the girls ran drills, and listened to the other new parents trade stories. One mom said her older daughter had quit after three months because she couldn’t keep up with her homework and practices. Another dad said he’d spent almost $800 on gear and travel the first season, only for his kid to decide she’d rather do dance. I nodded along, my stomach twisting a little, wondering if I’d just signed us both up for a year of stress.
When practice ended, Lila trundled over to me, her hair stuck to her neck with sweat, a purple bruise already blooming on her shin from diving for a ball. She chugged half a bottle of water, wiped her mouth on her sleeve, and said, “That was way harder than I thought it would be. Can I come back next week?” I was so surprised I just said yes.
Our first tournament was a month later, held at a high school an hour away. We packed a cooler with Goldfish, lemonade, and extra hair ties, and got there at 8 a.m. Lila sat the entire first match on the bench. I sat in the stands, my hands clenched, ready to march over to the coach and ask what the point was of coming all this way just to sit. But when I looked down at Lila, she wasn’t scrolling on her phone or moping. She was leaning forward, cheering every time one of her teammates served, and scribbling little notes on her wrist tape with a pen—what the coach had said about reading the other team’s blocks. After the match, I almost said something about the playing time, but instead I just asked her what she thought. She shrugged and said, “I’m not as good as the other girls yet. I need to work on my overhand passing.”
That’s when I realized most of the advice I’d heard online was wrong. I’d been told to advocate for my kid right away if they weren’t playing, but Lila didn’t want me to fix it for her. She already knew what she needed to work on. Instead of talking to the coach that day, I just asked her, “What’s one thing you can practice for 15 minutes every night after homework this week?” She said passing against the garage wall, so that’s what we did. Every night after she finished her math sheet, she’d go out and pass the ball against the siding for 15 minutes. By the third tournament, she was starting the first set.
I picked up a few other small, useful things along the way that I wish someone had told me before we started. First, don’t buy all new gear upfront. I got Lila’s knee pads, her practice shoes, and her gear bag from the club’s annual used gear swap for $40 total, instead of paying $300 for new stuff. If she quits next season, I’m not out hundreds of dollars, and if she stays, she can upgrade later. Second, carpool. We linked up with three other families from our neighborhood, and each of us drives once a week to practice and once a month to tournaments. That cuts my driving time down by three-fourths, and we split gas money, which adds up over a season. Third, set a non-negotiable boundary before you sign the paperwork. Lila’s been taking art class after school on Wednesdays since she was 8, and I told her from the start that she wouldn’t have to give that up for volleyball. We told the coach upfront, and he was fine with her missing one practice a month to make it to class. So many parents I know let club take over every part of their kid’s life, and that’s when kids burn out. Keeping one thing that’s just for fun, no pressure, makes all the difference.
The thing that surprised me most wasn’t the volleyball skills. It was how it changed how Lila handles mistakes off the court. Before club, if she got a bad grade on a test or messed up a painting in art class, she’d shut herself in her room for an hour, crying that she was bad at everything. Last month, she served into the net on match point at a tournament, and we lost. She high-fived the other team, got a drink of water, and on the way out she said, “I was too tense on that serve. I’ll get it next time.” I almost cried in the parking lot. That’s the thing no one talks about when they’re warning you about club volleyball—it’s not about getting a college scholarship, unless that’s what your kid wants. For Lila, it’s just about learning to work hard at something that’s hard, and not quit when you mess up.
It’s not all perfect. We still have 6 a.m. practices that Lila complains about, and last month she almost quit because we had to skip her best friend’s birthday party for a tournament. We sat down and talked about it, and she decided she wanted to stay, but I told her if she wants to quit next season, that’s totally fine. It’s not some lifelong commitment we have to honor. It’s just something she’s trying right now, something that makes her happy more often than it doesn’t. If your kid is asking to try club volleyball, you don’t have to have all the answers before you start. We didn’t. You just have to be willing to get up early some mornings, bring extra Goldfish, and let them figure it out on their own.
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