Why We Let Our Daughter Try Club Volleyball (And What Parents Should Know)
The parking lot was already full when we pulled up, and my daughter gripped her water bottle like it was the only thing keeping her from floating away. It was 8:45 on a Sunday morning. The gym in front of us was one of those big sports complexes with tall, dark windows and a sign listing six different tournaments happening that day. Inside, girls in matching hoodies were walking in clusters, some with their hair in perfect high ponytails, many carrying duffel bags that looked professionally packed. My daughter had on an old t-shirt and a pair of shorts she’d outgrown. She was ten.
She had been asking to try club volleyball since the end of her recreational league season. That league ran for six weeks, once a week, with a coach who mostly reminded kids which way to rotate. She loved it anyway. She loved the sound of a solid pass, the high-five after a point, even the boring warm-ups. When the season ended, she kept bouncing a volleyball against the garage wall. “When do I play again?” she asked. Over and over.
My husband and I weren’t sports parents. I had played volleyball in middle school, but the club scene didn’t exist where I grew up. We had no idea what we were doing. We listened to other parents at pick-up, some of whom said club volleyball had taken over their family’s entire calendar. There were talks of weekend tournaments out of town, hotel rooms, gas money, and team dinners. One dad said he’d spent more time in gyms that year than in his own living room. But another mom told me something I kept thinking about: “She’ll learn more in one club season than three school seasons. It’s not even close.”
That’s why we found ourselves in that parking lot, signed up for tryouts we didn’t fully understand. The club’s website had been vague. It said “athletes of all levels welcome,” which I now know means something different in club sports. They asked us to bring a water bottle, appropriate shoes, and a parent signature. Nothing about the fact that the girls would be evaluated in front of each other, or that coaches would be scribbling notes about ten-year-olds from behind clipboards.
Inside, the gym was loud in that hollow, echoing way. Whistles everywhere. Balls smacking the floor. A line of fifth and sixth graders doing defensive slides across the baseline. My daughter joined the group without looking back at me, which was both a relief and somehow worse. Parents were directed to bleachers on the other side of a pane of glass. We sat there, cups of cold coffee in hand, watching our kids through the window.
The tryout was ninety minutes. They ran passing drills, serving lines, and then a short six-on-six scrimmage. My daughter missed half her serves. One of them nearly went into the net. She also dove for a ball during the scrimmage, fully on the floor, and got it up clean. I could see her surprise on her own face before she scrambled back to her position. That moment told me more than any of the results did.
She made the B team. Not the shiny top team, not the one with the Instagram account and the college-bound teenagers, but a team. We paid the deposit, bought the knee pads, and printed out the tournament schedule. The knee pads smelled like regret by the third week. The schedule was worse than any of us had expected.
Practices were twice a week, two hours each. They ran the same drills over and over: platform passes, approach footwork, serve receive. My daughter came home sore and sometimes cranky. One night, after a particularly rough practice where she couldn’t receive a single hard serve, she sat in the car and said, “I’m not good.” I almost said, “That’s not true,” but I stopped myself. She wasn’t asking me to argue. So I said, “It’s really hard. Do you still want to go back next week?”
She did.
That, I think, is the most important thing to understand about club volleyball. It’s not about scholarships or becoming a starting player in eighth grade. It’s about watching your kid voluntarily walk into something hard, fail a little, and decide to stay. There is real value in that, but it’s messy and not always obvious.
The first tournament, they lost all six games. I don’t mean they played poorly and lost. I mean they were outmatched by a foot in height and years of experience. One team had players who had clearly been doing this since they could walk. Our girls couldn’t get the ball over the net. But on the car ride home, my daughter couldn’t stop talking about one dig she made in the third game. Not the losses. Not the score. That single moment where she reacted faster than she thought she could.
That’s the thing club volleyball teaches that school sports often don’t: how to lose in public. How to smile and shake hands with a team that just beat you by twenty points. How to sit on the bench when a coach picks another player and still cheer for that player. How to listen to a coach yell something across the court and not crumble, but instead adjust.
Not every kid needs that. And not every club is worth it.
If your child has been asking about club volleyball, my first advice is simple: don’t sign up for the first club that sends you an email. Do a low-cost clinic or a summer camp first. Many clubs offer one-day or multi-week camps where your kid can get a feel for the culture without the commitment. My daughter did one local camp over spring break, and that was actually what confirmed it for her. She didn’t just want to play more—she wanted to be around kids who cared as much as she did.
Then, before you commit to a team, ask questions. Not just the polite ones. Ask the coach how many players will see meaningful playing time. Ask what happens to the kids on the bench. Ask about practice expectations, tournament travel, and refund policies. Ask to watch a practice, not a showcase. Visit the gym and notice how the coach talks to the players on a normal night. Is there yelling? Some kids respond to loud coaches. Others shut down. Know which one your child is.
Also, be honest about tryouts. Not every kid makes a team. My daughter had a friend who didn’t make the same club and cried for two days. That is a real part of club sports. But that friend tried a different club, was placed on a younger team for development, and ended up loving it. A tryout is not a verdict on your kid. It’s just a snapshot of one gym, on one Sunday, in front of coaches who have their own biases and needs.
The practical stuff is less glamorous. Club volleyball is expensive. There’s the team fee, travel costs, uniforms, new shoes, tournament gate fees, and the occasional “spirit wear” you didn’t budget for. Many clubs offer payment plans and some offer scholarships or sibling discounts, but nobody advertises them. You have to ask.
Time is the bigger cost. You will lose weekends. You will pack snack bins for car rides. You will sit in a bleacher for six hours, watching your kid play nine minutes total, and then drive home in the dark while they sleep in the backseat. I used to think that was a waste. Now I think it’s just the price of letting your child have something that’s theirs.
We’re in our second season now. My daughter still misses serves. She still gets benched sometimes. She still asks to go to practice even after a bad tournament. I still hate the drive to the gym. But I’ve stopped measuring the season by wins or stats. I measure it by how often she walks out of practice looking tired in a good way, or says something like, “Coach showed me a new way to approach the ball.” Last week she told me she wants to try setting next year. We’ll see. Maybe she will. Maybe she won’t.
The sport is hers now. I just drive the car.
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