Introducing Your Kid to Club Volleyball: What I Wish I Knew As A First-Time Parent
Last April, my 12-year-old Lila dragged her scuffed knee pads into the kitchen after rec league practice, slammed them on the counter next to my half-empty coffee mug, and pulled a cherry popsicle out of the freezer. “It’s boring,” she said, sticky juice dripping down her wrist. “Half the girls don’t even try to hit the ball. I want more.”
I’d heard all the horror stories about club volleyball by that point: $3,000 annual fees, cross-country tournaments every weekend, coaches yelling at 13-year-olds for missed serves, parents yelling at each other in the bleachers. I figured it was only for kids who were already on track for a Division 1 college scholarship, not my kid who just wanted to hit the ball harder than her friends. My neighbor Sarah, whose daughter played club, kept mentioning that their club had an entry-level developmental team for new players, but I put it off for three weeks. I didn’t want to waste the money or time if Lila bailed after a month.
I finally filled out the online form, paid the $25 tryout fee, and drove 20 minutes to the local community center on a gray Saturday morning. Lila borrowed an extra pair of knee pads from Sarah’s daughter because hers still had a crack in the padding from when she fell off her skateboard at the park. I stood in the check-in line and got to talking to another mom, whose 11-year-old had never played a single organized game of volleyball before—she just liked running around and wanted to try a new team sport. I relaxed a little. This wasn’t the all-elite, cut-throat tryout I’d pictured. Most of the kids there were just like us: new, curious, a little jittery.
Lila headed off to the court, and I sat in the bleachers to wait. The coach didn’t start with serve accuracy tests or vertical jump drills. She split the group into small teams and had them play 3v3 on half the court, just messing around. After an hour, we got the email that night: Lila made the developmental team. I still almost backed out when I saw the fee—until I realized it was $750 for the whole 8-month season, not the $3,000 I’d guessed from online horror stories. That included all practice time, court fees, and four tournaments, none more than an hour’s drive from our house. That was doable.
The first few months were messy. Practice is twice a week from 6 to 8 PM, so we eat dinner in the car four nights out of the month. I now keep a permanent stash of pre-cut apple slices, peanut butter granola bars, and extra water bottles in the back seat; it’s just our new routine. After the first tournament, Lila cried the whole way home. She’d missed three serves in a row during the final set, and her team lost by four points. I didn’t tell her “it’s just a game” or “you’ll do better next time” — I just handed her a tissue and said “that sucked, didn’t it?” She nodded, and by the time we pulled into the driveway, she was already talking about what she wanted to practice at next week’s session.
That’s when I started to see the small, unexpected changes. Lila used to shut down when she messed up anything, from a hard math test to a neighborhood soccer goal. Now, she’s used to messing up in front of 10 other people, brushing it off, and getting back in line to try again. Last month, I watched her call a quick huddle after her team lost three points in a row, and remind everyone to focus on the next play, not the last one. I never would have seen her do that a year ago.
What I’ve learned that I want to pass along to other parents on the fence is straightforward, and nothing like what I read online before we started. First, don’t assume all club volleyball is elite and unaffordable. When you start calling local clubs, ask specifically for entry-level or developmental programs for new players. Most established clubs have them, designed for kids who just want to learn and play, not make it to the Olympics. Second, tell your kid upfront they can quit after the first month if they hate it. I said to Lila straight out: “If you don’t like it, we won’t sign up again, no guilt, no arguments.” That took all the pressure off both of us, and made it easier for her to try without overthinking it. Third, check the tournament schedule before you sign anything. We turned down one local club that required 12 tournaments a season, half of them two hours away. Our current team does four, one a month, which fits our life perfectly without taking over every weekend.
We still have bad days. Two weeks ago, Lila said she was too tired from a big science test at school to go to practice, so I let her stay home. The coach didn’t give me a hard time, and Lila was back the next practice ready to go. It’s not a rigid, all-or-nothing thing, no matter what some of the more intense online parenting groups claim.
This past weekend was our last tournament of the season. Lila’s team got third place out of eight teams, and each kid got a cheap plastic medal that says “Pioneer Valley Volleyball 2024” on the front. Lila hung hers on the fridge, right next to the clay bird she made in art class last fall. She already said she wants to sign up again next season, but I’ve reminded her she can change her mind if she finds something else she likes more.
I used to think introducing my kid to club volleyball meant signing her up for a lifetime of early mornings and expensive travel, all for a shot at a scholarship she might not even want. Turns out, for us, it’s just a thing she does that she cares about. She has friends who show up to practice ready to play, she gets to work hard at something that’s not school or homework, and that’s more than enough for me. We’ll see what happens next year.
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