Introducing Your Kid to Club Volleyball: What You Need To Know Before You Sign Up
It’s 7:30 a.m. on a Saturday in October, and I’m leaning against a cinder block wall in a cold high school gym, sipping lukewarm coffee that’s already soaked through the paper cup. My 12-year-old daughter Lila is lacing up scuffed new knee pads 20 feet away, surrounded by 30 other preteens all chattering and stretching. I’m here for her first club volleyball tryout, and I’m equal parts curious and convinced I’m making a huge mistake.
Lila had quit rec soccer the previous spring, complaining half the team spent the whole game leaning on their knees scrolling TikTok when they weren’t near the ball. She hated that no one ever had to pay attention to what anyone else was doing, she said. She’d been messing around with volleyball in PE, kept coming home talking about how cool it was when everyone worked together to get the ball over the net. But all I’d ever heard about club volleyball was the horror stories: $3,000 price tags, travel every other weekend, coaches yelling at 11-year-olds for missing serves, parents fighting in the bleachers over playing time.
The other mom next to me on the bleachers saw me twisting my wedding ring and laughed. “I thought all that too,” she said. “Most clubs have local B teams now, for kids who just want to play, not get a college scholarship. We’re not here for D1, we’re here so she stops scrolling TikTok after school.” That was the first thing I learned that day: the version of club volleyball I’d heard about isn’t the only option.
Lila made the developmental 12U team, and we signed up for the season. The first few weeks, she came home with purple bruises all over her forearms, complained that her calves ached so bad she could barely climb the stairs to her room. But she kept pulling up blurry phone videos of her practice to show me, pointing out when the older girl on the team stayed after to teach her how to do an overhand serve. She talked about that girl for three days straight.
I’d always worried team sports would just be another overpriced thing clogging our already full calendar, but what I didn’t expect was how the skills would bleed over into the rest of her life. Lila’s always been the quiet kid in class, the one who lets other people speak in group projects because she hates drawing attention to herself. Volleyball doesn’t let you do that. If you don’t yell “mine” when the ball’s coming your way, two people collide, or it hits the floor. After two months, her teacher sent me an email saying Lila had started contributing to group discussions and volunteering to lead her project group. That wasn’t something I’d been able to push her to do at home; it just became a habit on the court.
Over the season, I picked up three straightforward things I wish someone had told me before I signed the registration form. First, don’t assume you have to commit to elite travel. I called three local clubs before I found one that offered a developmental tier for new players: it’s two practices a week, one local tournament a month, one optional overnight tournament an hour away at the end of the season, and it costs $425 for the whole season, including uniforms. That’s less than we spend on takeout in two months, honestly. I had no idea these lower-stakes levels existed until I picked up the phone and asked. Second, always ask the coach how much playing time each kid gets before you sign. A lot of competitive teams bench less experienced players to win games, but most developmental teams stick to equal playing time for everyone. Our coach writes the rotation up before every game and doesn’t change it, no exceptions. That takes all the pressure off for kids who are still learning. Third, let your kid call the shots on how much extra they do. When Lila said she wanted to go to the optional open gym every Friday, I said yes. When she said she wanted to skip a practice a few weeks ago to go to her best friend’s birthday bowling party, I didn’t argue or guilt her into going. It’s her activity, not mine.
It’s not all perfect. We’ve missed three family birthday dinners because tournaments fell on the same weekend. I’ve spent more Saturday afternoons sitting on hard bleachers than I ever thought I would, and I’ve packed so many peanut butter sandwiches in a cooler I’ve lost count. Last month, Lila choked on three straight serves in the final game of a tournament, and their team lost by two points. She cried in the car on the way home, and I thought she’d want to quit. But by the time we stopped for ice cream, she was talking about what she’d practice at the next week.
That’s the part I didn’t expect: she’s learned that messing up one play doesn’t ruin the whole game, and that translates to everything else. Last week she got a C on her first algebra test, and instead of crumpling it up and hiding it like she would have a year ago, she went through the problems she missed and asked her teacher for extra help. She said, “It’s just one test, I can do better next time.” That’s not something I taught her; that’s something volleyball taught her.
This weekend, we’ve got a tournament that starts at 8 a.m. two towns over. I’ve already set my alarm for 6:15, and I bought a bigger cooler last week to fit more Gatorade and fruit. Lila’s talking about trying out for the A team next season, and I don’t know if she’ll make it, or if she’ll even want to if she does. Some weeks she says she’s tired and doesn’t want to go to practice, and that’s fine. It’s not for every kid, and it’s not the only way to build those skills. But if your kid’s been talking about trying volleyball, and you’re scared off by all the horror stories, it’s worth calling a few local clubs and asking about their lower-tier teams. You don’t have to commit to four years of travel and recruiting to give it a shot. So far, for us, the early mornings and bruised arms have been worth it. Even if I still complain about the coffee in the gym vending machine.
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