When Kids Grow Together, Parents Do Too: Lessons from Our First Tournament

“Don’t ever permit the pressure to exceed the pleasure.” — Joe Maddon

Opening weekend in youth baseball is always a test. Not just for the boys in the dugout, but for the parents in the stands and the coaches on the foul lines. It’s where nerves meet excitement, where mistakes come as quickly as little flashes of brilliance, and where a team of individuals begins the long journey toward becoming one unit.

This past weekend, our new group of 11- and 12-year-old boys stepped onto the field not yet as a team but as a collection of kids from different backgrounds, different schools, and different experiences. They were learning not only how to play the game but also how to play together. Every inning was another step toward trust. Every at-bat another chance to build confidence. Every mistake another invitation to pick each other up. And that process — messy, emotional, and exhilarating — is exactly what youth baseball is all about.

But here’s the truth: the kids weren’t the only ones on a journey. The parents, are learning too. And Let's be honest, this journey can be tough.

The Weekend in Numbers

If you look at the scorebook, you’ll see a story that doesn’t tell the whole story — but it tells enough to give us hope.

• Every single kid got on base. Some with hits, some with walks. A few with long at-bats that showed grit even if they didn’t end with a hit.

• Every single kid scored a run. Opening weekend, every boy touched home plate at least once. That doesn’t happen often.

• Every single kid made a play on defense. Sure, there were errors and missed opportunities. But there were also outs recorded by every player who stepped on the field.

  
  

Think about that: in our very first weekend as a team, every boy contributed on both sides of the ball. That’s rare. That’s something to build on.

We saw a bomb triple that electrified the dugout. We saw kids drawing walks after working counts deep, sometimes seven or eight pitches. We saw kids putting the ball in play hard even if the result wasn’t a hit.

Our pitchers? They struck out ten batters while walking nineteen. The story of kids trying to hard for their team, but learning to trust their team behind them to pick them up. They gave up thirteen hits but our batters answered with fifteen of their own. Our hitters struck out nine times, but they also drew fourteen walks. On paper, it looks like balance. On the field, it felt like chaos at times. But baseball growth is always hidden in the chaos.

The Emotional Rollercoaster of Youth Baseball

Here’s the thing nobody really warns you about: as much as the kids are learning baseball, parents are learning parenting athletes.

It’s not the same as parenting a student. Not the same as parenting a child at home. Parenting an athlete means sitting in the bleachers with your stomach tied in knots, knowing failure is public. It means watching your child swing through strike three or walk a batter on four straight pitches and feeling helpless.

That helplessness is where the anxiety grows.

So often, we hear people tell parents what not to do. Don’t yell at the umpire. Don’t coach your kid from the stands. Don’t be negative. The list of don’ts is endless. But who is teaching us what to do? Who is guiding us through that anxious helplessness we feel in the stands?

That’s why weekends like this matter. Because when there is organization and communication — when coaches share plans, when we know what’s happening, when we see progress measured in both numbers and smiles — it helps us as parents work through our fears. It’s not perfect, but it’s a great start.

The Power of Positive Coaching (and Cheering)

One of the things we noticed this weekend is how much the boys picked each other up. When a pitcher lost command, the infielders shouted encouragement. When someone struck out, the dugout still greeted them with high-fives.

That’s the culture we’re trying to build.

And it doesn’t stop with the boys. As parents, we have to build that culture in the bleachers. That means shifting the way we cheer. Not coaching from the stands. Not dwelling on mistakes. Not feeding into the frustration. Instead, amplifying the positives.

Joe Maddon once said, “Try not to suck.” It’s funny, but it’s also a philosophy. For kids, it means playing free — not perfect, just free. As coaches we were telling the kids, if you're going to make a mistake...MAKE IT PRETTY. Lean into it, play free, learn to embrace the leap you are taking, stop letting fear guide your outcome. For parents, it means choosing joy over criticism, encouragement over correction. It means letting kids hear us cheer for effort, not just outcomes. Baseball is a sport of failure after all.

When a kid works a seven-pitch walk, that deserves a cheer. When a pitcher battles through wildness and finally finds the strike zone, that deserves a cheer. When a kid who struck out last at-bat puts the ball in play hard the next time, that deserves a cheer.

The Parallel Journeys of Kids and Parents

The beauty of youth baseball is that while the kids are learning the game, we’re learning alongside them.

They’re learning how to field a grounder cleanly. We’re learning how to sit quietly when they don’t.They’re learning how to shake off a strikeout. We’re learning how to clap instead of cringe.They’re learning how to be teammates. We’re learning how to be the right kind of support system.

Joe Maddon wrote, “Embrace the target, don’t run from it.” For kids, the target is the baseball. For parents, the target is patience. It’s the ability to sit in the tension without making it about us. That’s hard. Really hard. But when we embrace that challenge, our kids feel it. They sense our calm, and they feed off it.

Organization as the Antidote to Fear

If you think about it, so much of our parental anxiety comes from uncertainty. Who’s pitching? Who’s catching? What’s the lineup? When do we arrive? How do I help my kid prepare?

That’s why communication matters so much. When the coaching staff shares plans, outlines expectations, and recaps weekends, it helps us focus our energy. Instead of guessing or worrying, we can trust the process.

The truth is, we can’t eliminate fear. Not in baseball, not in parenting. But we can manage it. And the way we manage it is with communication, clarity, and trust.

Building a Culture That Outweighs Mistakes

Every team has errors. Every pitcher throws balls. Every hitter swings and misses.

But here’s what made this weekend special: for every mistake, there was also a play made. For every missed opportunity, there was a kid picking up a teammate. For every inning that went sideways, there was still a chance to regroup and finish strong.

That’s the lesson we want our boys to carry. Not that mistakes don’t matter, but that mistakes don’t define.

As coaches, our goal is simple: build these boys up. Get them to play free. Grow positive behaviors until they outweigh the mistakes so heavily that the mistakes shrink into the background.

It’s not about perfection. It’s about joy.

A Different Kind of Scoreboard

If you measure the weekend only by wins and losses, you’ll miss the real story.

The scoreboard doesn’t show that every kid touched home plate.The scoreboard doesn’t show that every kid made a defensive play.The scoreboard doesn’t show the high-fives, the laughter on the bench, the way one boy picked up another after a strikeout.

But we saw it. And if we focus on expanding those positives, if we keep stacking those small wins, then the scoreboard will eventually take care of itself.

Closing Thought

As parents and coaches, we are building something bigger than a baseball team. We are building confidence, resilience, and joy in the hearts of 11- and 12-year-old boys. And in the process, we’re building something in ourselves too — patience, perspective, and the ability to enjoy the ride.

Joe Maddon’s reminder is the perfect way to close: “Don’t ever permit the pressure to exceed the pleasure.”

Baseball is hard. Parenting is harder. But if we let joy be the driver — not fear, not perfection, not pressure — then both our kids and we ourselves will grow in ways we can’t yet measure.

Here’s to more weekends of growth, for players and parents alike. I dare you to go back, and watch highlights of Ozzie "Wizard" Smith and tell me he wasn't playing free and with joy. But it takes coaching to get there.