“The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.” Those words from President Franklin Delano Roosevelt served as an encouraging rallying cry for Americans navigating the Great Depression. But to an 8-year-old who got pegged in the helmet by a “fastball” in his first at-bat of the new recreational baseball season, they mean nothing.

Sports bring out the best and worst in us, whether we’re fans watching our favorite team (go Knicks!) or participants on our church softball team. That’s a lot for parents to handle because much of our life seems to revolve around watching our children play sports, organized or otherwise, as soon as they can walk. For example, all three of my kids play on rec teams. This means two games a week for each child. Then add on one of two practices — again, for EACH CHILD. Then add that to all three kids’ other extracurricular activities. It is, to put it mildly, a busy life. For me.

This brings me back to FDR’s quote about fear. 

When I checked on my son, Jackson, after he got hit with that pitch, I could see his desire to play baseball had left him at that very moment. It was a brand-new experience for him. Two years ago he hit off a tee in games. Last year was coach pitch, so fathers lobbed slow pitches he could crush to the outfield. He had always been one of the best players on his teams up until that fateful at-bat. I loved watching him play and believed he could be a special player for many years. 

But after taking that less-than-fast one on the helmet, even though was OK physically, he was not OK emotionally. His not wanting to play for the rest of the game hit me in a way I was not expecting.

It got worse after the game. That’s when Jackson told me he didn’t want to play baseball anymore.

I was mad.

‘Fun’ comes first in ‘fundamentals’

Something felt like it was taken away from ME. I had spent time getting him ready, taking him to practice, doing pitching drills, and many other things to prepare him for another great season. The moment became about me, my time and my feelings rather than about my son and his state of mind.

Baseball soon became a struggle between the two of us. Two games later into the season, Jackson was still apprehensive about playing. I would spend an hour getting him dressed for games and practices. We’d argue the entire time about why he had — NEEDED — to go and couldn’t just not show. I was getting frustrated and so was he. I could see he was getting further and further from wanting to pick up a bat again.

Then, one day before practice, I was talking with another dad who coaches the team.  He didn’t blame Jackson for not wanting to play. He even admitted he would be scared to get back into the batter’s box after an experience like that too. While Jackson warmed up with his teammates in the outfield, the dad reminded me of a simple fact.

“They’re only 8,” he said. “This should be about learning the fundamentals of baseball but also having fun. If they aren’t having fun, then why are they doing it?”

That’s when I realized my duty as a father was not only to provide for my family. It was also my duty to listen to them. I wasn’t listening to Jackson about his genuine fear of getting hit by the ball, a fear anyone might have. It is no different than being afraid to get behind the wheel of a car after a traffic accident. Trauma affects everyone differently, and as parents, we must learn to recognize it in our children and address it.

With youth sports, we parents sometimes get caught up in the fantasy. We hear about all the benefits beyond physical health — friendship, teamwork, discipline, etc. — and expect results on Day One. Often it becomes about our kids living the athletic dreams we wanted to come true for ourselves. Maybe we even indulge in thoughts about the riches (or at least the college scholarships) it provides only a select few. We make it about ourselves and think our kids should tough it out. 

Youth sports parents: Listen, learn, enjoy

But these are just children. Some just want to hang with their friends, sing a few fun and clever rallying cries, and then get a hot dog and slushy from the snack stand after the game. Youth sports parents must remember to frequently ask their kids one very simple question, “Are you having fun?”

If you know they are having fun, it makes the long road trips, the late-night games, and the rain-soaked practices worth it. If your kid is not having fun, then you as a parent are definitely not having fun. So what’s the point?

As parents, we want our children to be active, but we must have the wisdom to step in when necessary be it youth sports or violin lessons. We should not let them become overscheduled. We need to be sure they are having fun while building healthy relationships and habits they will carry off the field.

As of this writing, Jackson is halfway through the season. He still isn’t swinging the bat much, but he is playing and his confidence appears to be returning. I make sure before every game to tell him the coaches and the other sports parents are there to ensure he has fun while prioritizing that he doesn’t get hurt. I remind him that getting hit is a part of the game of baseball, but it doesn’t happen very often. And I tell him after every game that I am proud of him getting back out there and facing his fear. 

When I see him out there making plays, catching a fly ball or two, I remind him of all he would have missed if had let his fear keep him from playing baseball. However, I let the coaches do their jobs and coach. Sometimes hearing things, especially instructions, from an authority figure who is not your parent, gets through to a child better.

So if this turns out to be his last season of baseball at the ripe old age of 8 going on 9, I am OK with that. If he’s not having fun playing a game, then why should he? He will have plenty of time to do “not fun” things when he is an adult. 

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This blog post is part of the #NoDadAlone campaign. Fathering Together/City Dads Group, the National At-Home Dad Network, and Fathers Eve are joining forces to amplify messages that help dads recognize we are not alone! Follow #NoDadAlone on Instagram, and learn more at NoDadAlone.com.

Photo by Ben Hershey on Unsplash.

“I want to quit.”

The first time a parent hears a child utter these four words, they can stir existential dread. Whatever the activity involved — a sport, a musical instrument, a hobby — the parent’s mind often frets: Is my child lazy? How will he ever develop a work ethic? How will she ever keep a job?

Upon further reflection, however, most of us can remember when we quit an activity in our childhood. Did such an act doom us to unemployability? Probably not. But our culture has made “quit” a four-letter word we’d rather not hear from our children. I admit that when my daughters were quite young, I believed in the “quitters never win” adage. And certainly quitting is sometimes the wrong solution for an unhappy child. But many years, activities and parenting books later, the subject of quitting has become more nuanced.

For example, David Epstein’s recent book, Range: Why Generalists Triumph in a Specialized World, sheds light on the decisions parents face when a child wants to quit an activity. In the chapter “The Trouble with Too Much Grit,” Epstein warns against parents putting too much pressure on a child to stick with an activity if it is not a good fit. Epstein quotes researcher Seth Godin who encourages everyone to “stay attuned to whether switching [activities] is simply a failure of perseverance, or astute recognition that better matches are available.”

But how can parents navigate the ethics of quit vs. fit when it comes to children? Here are four steps that might help.

1) Prevent a high-stakes quitting situation

One way to avoid a tense standoff with a child is to lower the stakes of quitting in the first place. For example, try to start a new activity in small stages. If children express an interest in a sport or activity, start with a weekend camp instead of a months-long commitment. If they express an interest in playing a musical instrument, start with a keyboard or rented instrument. In these cases, the lower time and money commitments take pressure off the quitting situation if it arises. It also makes the goal of “finishing what you started” easier for a child to achieve.

Some activities provide early “off ramps” or trial periods for children who are interested but not sure about their extended passion. One of my daughter’s dance studios enabled dancers to take a class for a few months. At that point, they could discontinue the class or commit to six more months and a recital performance. My daughter just finished her 11th year at the studio, but that safety valve was helpful during the first year.

2) Probe the reasons for giving up at a quiet time

Granted, if there’s a large problem, like a coach’s abuse or a teammate’s bullying, then intervention may be necessary. But if a child is simply frustrated with an activity, it is more effective to ask them why when they are calm and not in the heat of the moment.

In that calmer time, encourage the child to express their reasons. Lack of improvement? Boredom? Lack of challenge? Too much challenge? Fear of mistakes? Burnout? While listening, resist the urge to lecture them about grit.

3) Help formulate a plan of action

Once the reasons for wanting to quit are clear, collaborate with your child to brainstorm possible solutions. Maybe they could talk with the coach and/or teammates to improve the situation. If so, help them rehearse what they’ll say and why. To help develop their own “voice,” maybe they could make a presentation to the family about their plan.

If it seems like quitting is, in fact, the best option, discuss how that will take place. Will the child be expected to tell the coach/teammates? If so, help them rehearse how, when, and where that would happen.

4) Once they quit, learn from it and move forward

If your child ends up quitting an activity in favor of a better fit, it’s important not to second-guess them. Perhaps redescribe “quitting” as simply being pragmatic, thoughtful, and, in the long run, wise. As long as quitting does not become a pattern, a child could be commended for reprioritizing his or her life, which also frees time for other interests. As David Epstein notes, Seth Godin “argued that ‘winners’ quit fast and often when they detect that a plan is not the best fit, and do not feel bad about it.”

Ultimately, you know your children and their character best. If you can rule out unhealthy reasons for their desire to quit an activity, the words “I want to quit” need not be so feared. In fact, Epstein argues that parents should allow children to be “dabblers” if that is what they seem to want. His research shows that among elite adult athletes, for example, “broad early experiences and delayed specialization is the norm” for their childhood. Hence, encourage children to be “scientists” of themselves, exploring their interests and gaining range in a hyper-specialized world. Once children find a good fit, grit often takes care of itself.

Photo: ©Anneke / Adobe Stock.

I’ve seen this before – a half-assed tryout, making the track team and, suddenly, floating the idea wanting to quit before the second practice. Yes, my seventh grader, Lynden, hopes that his subtle hints about leaving the school track team will garner my support to do so. He must not know I value the act of participating more than he does.

“Dad, track is boring,” he mentioned in passing the morning after tryouts.

I said nothing and picked him up from practice later that day.

That evening, on the van ride home, Lynden escalated the quitting chatter, “With everything else going on, track is gonna get in the way of soccer.”

Again, I remained quiet and stoic – taking note of his hope for my agreement wane.

By day three, Lynden resorted to feigning illness to avoid track practice, “Dad, I have a headache. There is no way I to go to track and soccer tonight.”

I’d had enough.

“Lynden, you’re not quitting the team. Nope.”

He shot back, “Why does it matter? You’re not out any money – it’s just the school track team! I’m not even good.”

Sparing him another “it’s not the act, but the principle at work” talk, I kept it simple, saying, “Yes, you’re busy. Yes, you’ll be tired from running at track practice before soccer. But you tried out and took a spot that someone else could have earned. That means you’re sticking it out. Tough. You’re on the team for the season so you better learn to like it.”

Request denied.

The truth is, Lynden quitting the team didn’t have me as annoyed as his nonchalant attitude about being on the squad in the first place.

As I thought about Lynden’s logic, I came around to the idea that he wasn’t technically wrong. The school track team was a free, throw-in for his normal, more expensive, more serious, more inconvenient-to-the-family team activities. This rationale, though, clearly does not value participation as a valuable use of his time. He isn’t alone in the line of thinking, I see the numbers of kids on the field at school reducing universally.

As the act of trying new activities at school has given way to paying-to-play, the quality of middle school sports have suffered. My family has a front row seat to witnessing the plight of the school team fueled by an invasion of uber-serious, uber-expense “travel” teams that do little to fortify friendships and do far too much to allow parents to live vicariously through their exhausted young athletes.

I began unpacking Lynden’s mentality as follows:

• School sports are free and, therefore, not as valuable as the other (ie: higher priced) options.
• School sports are less valuable, so my commitment to the team doesn’t matter.
• Commitment does not matter so quitting the team carries no repercussions.

Parents cannot allow this – I won’t. We must band together to stomp out these flames before they ignite the lacquer of the middle school gym’s floor. Worthwhile commitments must not be dependent on the financial cost of admission or perceived ability level. Having fun is worthwhile!

Maybe some of Lynden’s “quitting doesn’t matter” way of thinking can be traced back to the way parents have devalued the act of participating. The rush to disavow the “participation trophy mentality” may have inadvertently discouraged kids to try anything new. Our kids would rather sit out than entertain the idea of making an ass of themselves in front of classmates, friends and family by giving a new activity a shot.

But, not Lynden, not this time. By making him stick out the track season, I hope to change his view of what is important (and not) – and, potentially, test my own biases about the importance of participating.

Picking Lynden up after his fourth track practice, I explained to him my point of view — that his bellyaching to quit the track team was about something bigger to me. Sure, the most obvious lesson was about perseverance and integrity. Less obvious, though, are lessons about value – looking for intrinsic worth through friendships and owning the courage to step outside of a comfortable zone. These lessons are about placing more value on systems that care little about the quality of play relative to the qualities developed by simply taking part. These lessons require participation.

Kids cannot quit on school activities. Let’s tell our kids that trying is OK. In fact, participation is what it’s all about – absent the trophy, of course.

Photo: ©Anneke / Adobe Stock.

I called my son into the living room and confirmed that this is what he really wanted. He said it was.

So I hit “send” on a note to his baseball coach to let him know that the season was over for my son. The team still had two games and the playoffs left to go. But No. 42 would not be joining them anymore.

My son’s team, the Plumbers, were in a tight game a few weeks ago on a surprisingly chilly May evening. The boys — 6-, 7- and 8-year-olds, have one of the smaller teams in league: no behemoth second graders, just a group of scrappy little guys. My son stood at the plate. Back elbow up. Knees slightly bent. The other team’s pitchers were wild, already five of our guys had been hit. The bases were loaded. And the pitch came in. It was way inside, and smashed into my son’s hand.

Like his teammates before him, he collapsed into a crying mess. His coach came running over from third base and tried to encourage him as he walked over to first base. He wouldn’t stay out there so they brought in a pinch runner, and I came over to the dugout. He was inconsolable.

I was sure he’d be good to go by the next game. I got him some extra pads for his hands. A security blanket. We went to the batting cage and all seemed great. He was driving the ball with authority. At practice, he was great.

Then it was game day.

He walked into the dugout and was in tears. He refused to play. Eventually he played half an inning of left field.

That would be the last time he made it onto the field. The next game, he couldn’t even make it into the dugout. He spent the entire game off the field, playing with the little sister of one of his teammates.

I reached out to everyone I knew who might give me some advice. Dads with kids as young as 6 and some with kids almost out of high school. They all said, he’ll be ready when he is ready. I didn’t push it.

So after a rainout and a few scheduling conflicts, I thought he was ready to play again. When I told him to get ready, his face sunk.

I knew he was scared. I asked him if playing was making him unhappy. He said it was. Forcing him to try would just make him sadder. He is 6  (and three-quarters), and he deserves to be happy. Me forcing him to play isn’t doing that.

I love watching him play. He has a wonderful and powerful swing, the kind usually reserved for lefties. He is so willing to throw himself around to get a ball. We even got him catcher’s gear so he could try that position. And through coaching and practice, he can actually catch the ball well.

I never got a chance to play Little League, so it was important to me to see him play. It just became “not right” for him.

When I sent that email, my son was relieved. We are still going to have catches in the backyard and the park. I’ll still throw him batting practice. But he won’t be on the team, at least not this year. And if that makes him happy, then I’m happy, too.

A version of this appeared on Great Moments in Bad Parenting.