The Balance of Growth, Part 1: Are We Pushing Too Hard?

There’s a moment that happens on every youth field. A ground ball kicks sideways, a runner forgets the count, or a pitcher misses the plate four straight times. And you hear it, the sigh, the groan, sometimes the muttered, “We’re spending all this money, and he still makes that mistake?”

Stop. Let’s start there.

Because the truth is, no 10-year-old is driving your debit card. No 12-year-old is asking for the hotel bill, or the tournament entry fee, or the private lesson check. Parents make those choices. Parents open the wallet, book the trip, and sign the roster spot. And when the bill comes due — financially, emotionally, or in the form of disappointment — we sometimes turn and hand the tab to the kid.

That’s not just unfair. It’s unhealthy.

The Myth of “Return on Investment”

Youth sports in America have turned into an industry. Everyone knows it — the travel teams, the showcase camps, the private lessons. And like any industry, there’s money involved, which means parents start thinking in terms of returns. If I spend this much, shouldn’t I see results?

But kids are not stock portfolios. You don’t get quarterly earnings reports from your 11-year-old shortstop. They’re not investments. They’re children learning a game.

Tom House, the “father of modern pitching,” put it plainly:

“Kids don’t need more pressure. They need more joy. Joy gives them freedom to repeat, and repetition is where growth happens.” — Tom House

That’s the piece so many adults miss. The growth doesn’t come from the invoice. It comes from the reps, the patience, and the willingness to let kids fail forward.

Why Parents Push

It doesn’t come from a bad place. Most parents push because they care. They see potential. They want to give their kids opportunities they didn’t have. They want to protect them from falling behind.

Add in social media highlights — the 12-year-old who looks like a varsity athlete, the viral clips of Little League World Series heroes — and suddenly, your kid’s stumble at second base feels like a crisis.

But here’s the hard reality: pushing hard at the wrong time or in the wrong way doesn’t create greatness. It creates burnout. It creates resentment. It builds kids who associate the game with tension instead of joy.

Research backs it up. Nearly 70% of kids quit sports by age 13, and one of the top reasons cited is pressure from parents and coaches.

The Hidden Cost of Too Much, Too Soon

The kid who gets barked at every time he boots a ground ball doesn’t learn to field better. He learns that mistakes = shame.

The girl who’s told, “We’re spending too much money for you to pitch like that,” doesn’t learn better mechanics. She learns that her worth is tied to her parents’ bank account.

And when that pattern sets in, it sticks. A former player once told me: “I quit because it stopped being mine. It was their sport, their voice in my head. I just wanted to breathe again.”

That’s the hidden cost. The game itself gets lost.

Tom Seaver, one of the greatest pitchers of all time, had a different focus:

“In baseball, my theory is to strive for consistency, not to worry about the numbers. If you dwell on statistics you get shortsighted; if you aim for consistency, the numbers will be there at the end.” — Tom Seaver

Consistency. Process. That’s what carries players. Not fear of the next mistake.

Accountability vs. Pressure

Now let’s be clear: accountability is not the enemy. Kids should be held accountable. Show up on time. Hustle on and off the field. Listen when your coach speaks. Those things matter, and they teach lessons bigger than baseball.

But accountability and pressure are not the same thing.

• Accountability: “You need to run hard to first base every time.”

• Pressure: “If you don’t get a hit, this was a waste of money.”

One builds habits. The other builds resentment.

The Firetruck Problem

I’ve joked before that even at 25 or 30 years old, you’re still the inner four-year-old upset someone took your firetruck. The truth is, emotional wiring starts early, and it stays with us. The way we react to stress, to disappointment, to loss — it all roots deep when we’re young.

So when we pile pressure on a 10-year-old, what are we really teaching? Not just how to swing a bat. We’re teaching how to process failure. How to link self-worth with performance. How to internalize blame for things they can’t control.

That’s not a baseball lesson. That’s a life sentence.

The Role of Parents

This is the hard pill: the level of spending, travel, and time commitment is chosen by us, the parents. Kids don’t sit at the kitchen table negotiating the family budget. We do. Which means we have to own it.

And owning it means dropping the narrative that kids owe us a return. They don’t. They owe effort, respect, and their best attempt — but not results that justify a receipt.

If we don’t accept that, then youth sports become a transaction instead of a journey. And transactions don’t grow kids. Journeys do.

The Balance We Need

There’s a reason even professional players, even minor leaguers and college kids, still have coaches breaking down fundamentals. They miss cutoffs. They blow coverages. They forget situational awareness. If players with thousands of reps still need reminders, why do we expect perfection from a 12-year-old?

Tom House has a line I use often with parents:

“Outcomes don’t matter for kids — experiences do. The score will fade, but how they felt will last.” — Tom House

That’s where the balance sits. Push them to show up. Push them to work hard. Push them to grow. But don’t push them past joy. Don’t crush the spark that got them to pick up the ball in the first place.

Closing

So, are we pushing too hard? Sometimes, yes. And when that happens, we need to take a breath and remind ourselves: this is their sport, not ours. The money we spend is our choice, not their burden.

Tom Seaver talked about consistency. Tom House talks about joy. Put them together and you have the real formula: a consistent, joyful approach that lets kids fall in love with the game while learning how to handle effort, accountability, and growth.

That’s the balance. That’s the long game. And it starts with us.