Introducing Kids to Club Volleyball: What I Learned Trying It With My 12-Year-Old
The first tryout was at 7 a.m. on a rainy Saturday in September. I sat on the aluminum bleachers with a lukewarm gas station coffee, cold seeping through the knees of my old jeans, and watched my 12-year-old Lila fidget with her too-big hand-me-down knee pads by the gym door. I’d spent the whole week scrolling through parent forums panicking about club volleyball: it’s too expensive, it’s too competitive, it’ll turn a fun hobby into a chore that burns her out before she even hits high school. Lila had played rec volleyball through our city’s parks program for a year, and kept coming home talking about how she wanted more plays, more practice, more time with kids who actually cared about being there. I almost said no just because all the horror stories I’d read had put me off.
When the coaches called the kids in, the first thing they did was have every kid go around and high five three people they’d never met before. No yelling, no running 10 laps to test endurance, just slow passing drills where coaches stopped every couple minutes to correct a foot position and joke about dropping the ball. I got to talking with another mom next to me whose 13-year-old was trying out for the second year in a row. She told me her older daughter tried club volleyball at 11, quit after two months because she hated early practices, and now does competitive horseback riding and loves it. No shame, no big talk about wasted money, just whatever the kid wanted. That took a lot of the tension out for me.
Lila ended up making the entry-level B team, which was a relief. The top A team travels to three out-of-state tournaments a year and costs close to $6,000 for the season. Our B team plays local tournaments within an hour’s drive, and the total cost for the season is just under $1,200, including uniforms and court time. I didn’t even know clubs offered lower-tier, lower-cost options until I started asking around – most big clubs in most areas have multiple levels for different skill levels and commitment levels, so you don’t have to commit to the big time right away. That’s the first thing I tell other parents now when they ask about getting started.
Two months into the season, we had our first all-day tournament. We left the house at 6 a.m., Lila forgot her water bottle, we stopped at a gas station and she got a blue raspberry slushie even though I told her it was way too early for that much sugar. They lost the first three games in a row. After the second loss, I watched Lila gather the team in a huddle off to the side, and remind everyone to call out the ball when it goes up – no more quiet guessing that was letting the other team score. She’s always been the quiet kid in class, the one who lets other people lead group projects, so I sat there surprised. I’d never seen her take charge like that, even at birthday parties or family gatherings.
They still lost that third game, but they won the next two, and ended up taking fifth place out of 12 teams. On the drive home, Lila fell asleep in the backseat with her slushie cup in her lap and ketchup from the post-tournament hamburger on her jersey, and I thought about why I was so scared to try this in the first place. I’d bought into the idea that club volleyball is only for super serious kids who want college scholarships, but that’s not true for most of the kids on Lila’s team. Half of them also do dance or art or soccer, and most won’t play past middle school.
I have a few simple, concrete things I tell other parents who are on the fence about introducing their kid to club volleyball. First, always ask about tiered options before you rule it out for cost. Most clubs have entry-level teams with much lower fees and less travel, and many even have partial scholarships for families who need them – you just have to ask, they don’t always advertise it. Second, ask point blank what the playing time policy is for the team you’re looking at. A lot of competitive teams only play the best players, but entry-level teams almost always guarantee every kid plays at least half of every set, so your kid doesn’t spend the whole tournament sitting on the bench. Third, set a no-guilt trial period before you start. We agreed with Lila that she could quit after three months for any reason, no questions, no lectures about sticking to something. That took the pressure off both of us – if she hated it, we’d just move on to something else.
It’s not all perfect. Last weekend, Lila missed three serves in a row at the end of a close match, and they lost. She came off the court crying, and sat next to me on the bleachers hiding her face in her sweatshirt. I didn’t give her a pep talk, I didn’t tell her it was all okay. I just handed her the extra granola bar I keep in my bag and let her sit there until she was done crying. Ten minutes later she got up and went to warm up for the next match. That’s the part no one talks about much: it’s not all winning trophies and big life moments. It’s a lot of cold mornings, missed family dinner on practice nights, and kid tears after bad games.
This season wraps up in mid-May, and Lila already said she wants to come back next year, but she also wants to join the art club at her middle school that meets on Tuesday nights, same as practice. We’re still working that out, and it might not work. Some weekends I still roll out of bed at 6 a.m. grumbling about the drive, and I still check my bank account twice after paying the club fees. But I’m glad we tried it. I didn’t have to have all the answers, or commit to 10 years of tournaments just to go to one tryout. If your kid has been asking to play, you don’t have to jump into the deep end. You can just show up at 7 a.m. with a bad coffee, and see what happens.
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