Introducing Kids to Club Volleyball: What I Learned As A Parent After My 12-Year-Old Tried It
The parking lot of the YMCA was still puddled from last week’s rain when I pulled up for Lila’s first club volleyball practice last April. She picked at the chipped light blue nail polish on her thumb and said she was pretty sure all the other girls already knew how to spike. I’d forgotten her knee pads at home, so we ran in through the side door and dug a beat-up black pair out of the lost and found bin by the front desk, the elastic still slightly stretched from whoever owned it before.
I’d avoided club volleyball for a full year before that. All the stories I heard from other parents were the same: one kid quit after three months because the coach yelled at her for missing serves, another family spent $5,000 a year on travel and entry fees, everyone was obsessed with getting a college scholarship before kids even hit high school. I thought it was only for kids who ate, slept, and breathed volleyball, not my kid who still forgets her cleats for soccer half the time and stops mid-practice to pet the stray cat by the field. But Lila kept asking, after her rec league ended, she said she wanted to play more than just one night a week. So I looked up the local club, called them, and found they let you come to one or two practices for free before committing. That sold me, no strings attached, so I signed her up for the beginner local team.
I hung around by the door for 10 minutes after she went in, like every nervous first-time parent. The coach was in her 30s, wore worn-out sneakers, and didn’t blow a whistle the whole first practice. First thing she did was sit everyone in a circle and ask each girl what her go-to post-game snack was. I thought that was weird at first, until I realized it was just to get everyone relaxed, no pressure to prove anything right off the bat. Lila said Sour Patch Kids, coach nodded and said “That’s the correct answer, no notes.” Lila laughed, her shoulders dropped, and that was that.
A month in, they had their first inter-team scrimmage. Lila was serving for match point, tossed the ball wrong, and hit it straight into the net. They lost. She got in the car, cheeks bright red, and cried for 10 minutes straight. I already had my speech ready: we can quit anytime, no pressure, it’s just a game. But when she finished crying, she wiped her face on her sweatshirt and said “Can we go to the community park court after dinner tomorrow? I need to practice my toss.” I was surprised. I’d never seen her choose to practice something that hard on her own time. When she got a B on her algebra quiz the month before, she crumpled it up, threw it in her backpack, and said she was bad at math and never wanted to do it again.
That’s when I realized I’d had it all wrong about club volleyball. It’s not all for future college players. If you pick the right fit for your kid, it’s just a structured place for them to learn how to mess up in front of other people and keep going. There are a few small, concrete things I picked up that any parent can use if their kid is curious. First, don’t start with the elite travel team. Almost every club has an entry-level local team that only practices twice a week, plays 2-3 in-state tournaments a season, no cross-country travel, and costs about a third of what the elite teams run. Ours was $350 for the whole season, including the uniform, which is less than we spent on one week of soccer camp last summer. Second, email or call the coach before you commit, and ask one simple question: “What’s your main goal for kids this age?” If they say they want kids to leave liking the game enough to come back next year, that’s all you need for a beginner. If they lead with winning or college recruiting, that’s fine for kids who already know they love the sport and want to compete at a higher level, but it’s not what most kids need starting out. Third, you don’t need all the fancy new gear. We used that lost and found pair of knee pads for the first month, bought Lila’s court shoes from a secondhand sporting goods store, and got a used team bag from another parent whose kid outgrew it for $10. No one cares if your gear isn’t brand new.
Last month, we went to their end-of-season tournament at a high school an hour away. It rained the whole morning, we all huddled under the bleachers between games, sharing extra umbrellas and granola bars. Lila played well, but in the semi-final, she missed the final serve again, just like that first scrimmage. They lost, got fourth place overall. After, the team went out for frozen yogurt, Lila sat with her friends and drew on the table with sprinkles and didn’t even mention the serve. On the way home, she said she wanted to do it again next year, but she also wants to join the art club at school, so she can’t do four practices a week. We’re already signed up for the same local team next season, two nights a week, same coach.
I don’t know if Lila will play volleyball in high school, let alone college. She might quit next year because she’d rather spend time drawing or hanging out with her friends, and that’s okay. What I do know is that this season, she learned something she didn’t get in the classroom or at rec league: messing up doesn’t mean the whole thing is over. It just means you try again next time. We’re taking it one season at a time, and right now, that’s more than enough.
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