Introducing Kids to Club Volleyball: What I Wish I Knew Before We Started
The rain streaked the windshield of our minivan at 6:15 a.m. last April, and my 12-year-old Mia was upside down in her backseat duffel, swearing she’d left her kneepads on the kitchen counter. I’d already talked myself into bailing on the tryout, anyway. I’d heard all the stories about club volleyball: thousands of dollars in fees, weekend after weekend of out-of-state travel, coaches yelling at 11-year-olds for missing a serve, parents screaming from the bleachers like it was the Olympic finals. I turned off the ignition and said, “We can get pancakes instead. No one would blame you.” Mia popped her head up, crumbs from a Sour Patch Kid sticking to her chin, and said, “No way. Lila’s inside, she’ll lend me an extra.” She was out the door before I could argue.
I followed her in, sat in the back bleachers with a stack of 7th grade essays to grade (I’m a middle school language arts teacher, so I grade everywhere these days) and watched the girls run drills. I expected chaos and pressure, but the coach didn’t yell. When a girl tripped over her own feet going for a dig, he laughed and helped her up, said “Good reach, try again” instead of scolding. I watched Mia – who never raises her hand in class, who won’t order her own food at a restaurant, who hates drawing any attention to herself – yelling “MINE!” every time a ball came near her side of the net. I’d never seen her that loud, that unselfconscious.
She made the B team, which the coach told us upfront was for kids who just wanted to play and get better, not for anyone chasing college scholarships. The fee was $800 for the whole season, which covered uniforms, practice time, and all local tournaments. They did a car wash fundraiser at the end of summer that cut our fee in half, which I didn’t even know was an option. I’d assumed all club volleyball was the fancy elite program 45 minutes away that charged $5,000 a season for travel, but this was a community-based club out of our local recreation center, open to any kid who wanted to try. That’s the first thing I tell other parents now: you don’t have to jump into the elite circuit. There are low-stakes options for curious kids who just want to play more than the 8-game rec season.
The routine settled in quickly: twice a week practice from 6 to 7:30 after school, one local tournament a month on Saturday, all within an hour’s drive so we never had to book a hotel. I pack a cooler with lemonade and peanut butter crackers, bring my knitting, and wait between matches. It’s not nearly as disruptive as I thought it would be, but it has changed how we do things, and not in a bad way.
What I didn’t expect was how much it would teach Mia that school and our home routine can’t. The first week, she came home upset because Coach told her her footwork on her approach was off – she was jumping too early to hit the ball. My first instinct was to jump in: “That’s such a tiny thing, he shouldn’t nitpick a new player.” But I stopped myself. Instead, I just said, “Hmm, what do you think you can do to fix that?” She said Coach sent her a 90-second TikTok of the right footwork, so she went outside after dinner and practiced for 10 minutes every night that week. Next practice, Coach said it was better, and she came home glowing in a way I haven’t seen from a good grade on a test. That’s a small, concrete thing any parent can do: when your kid comes home upset about a correction from their coach, don’t rush to defend them or fix the problem. Just ask what they plan to try next. It lets them practice problem-solving without you taking over.
Another thing I didn’t anticipate: Mia’s friend group at school is all girls who love reading and drawing, same as her. They get along great, but they’re all a lot alike. On her volleyball team, there’s a girl who competes in local rodeos on off weekends, a girl who’s a competitive chess player, a girl who just moved here from Hawaii whose dad is in the Coast Guard. Mia had to learn to talk to people who don’t watch the same TikTok creators as her, who don’t like the same music. When we went to the first practice, I told her to bring extra hair ties and a pack of mint gum to hand out if anyone needed it. It’s such a small thing, but it gives an easy way to start talking to people without being awkward. It worked – she’s the one who now makes sure the new girls on the team have someone to sit with between matches.
It’s not all good, of course. Last month, we had a tournament the same day as her little brother’s 9th birthday brunch. We moved the brunch to Sunday, and everyone was annoyed. Then, on the way to the tournament, Mia realized she’d left her jersey at home, hanging by the front door. She cried the whole 20-minute drive back to get it, and we got there late, so she had to sit out the first set. I was frustrated too, but I just drove. When we got there, the coach had a spare jersey in his bag, no big deal. She went in, played the next two sets, and even got the game-winning kill.
Mia still talks about quitting sometimes, when practice falls on the first nice day of spring and all her friends are going to the community pool. Some weeks she’s tired and grumpy about having to go after school. She still gets benched half the time, she’s not the best player on the team. We don’t know if she’ll stick with it next year, or if she’ll decide she’d rather do art club instead. That’s fine. But right now, it’s working. She’s learning small, useful things that I can’t teach her sitting at the kitchen table doing homework. If your kid has even mentioned wanting to try it, it’s worth looking up the local community clubs first, before you write it off as too much. You might be surprised what comes of it.
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