Every weekend, parents of youth baseball players pack bento boxes before dawn, drive their children to the ballpark, and stand along the fence cheering. When the team wins, the day feels worth it. But there is a quieter moment that many families know well: the game ends, and their child’s name was never called from the bench. A parent who played hardball through high school and college and now watches his own child play described that feeling in an essay published on note — and offered guidance for the ride home that follows.
The essay opens with the scene familiar to many baseball families: the child spent the whole game cheering for teammates from the bench, and the parent watched, wondering what to say on the drive back. “You practiced so hard,” the parent wrote. “Why not my kid?” The questions pile up quickly — and so does the worry about what the child is feeling.
Parents Feel the Loss Too — and That Is Not a Failure
The note essayist argued that parents are allowed to feel frustrated when a child sits out. Watching a child throw balls against a wall every day, swing a bat until dark, and still come home tired only to do it again the next morning creates a deep investment — and a deep ache when the reward doesn’t come.
The catch, the essayist wrote, is that a parent’s disappointment and a child’s disappointment are not always the same thing. A parent saying “that must have hurt” may be met with a child who is genuinely happy about a teammate’s win. Or the opposite: a child who looks fine may be holding back tears. The first step, the essayist argued, is not to assume you know what your child is feeling.
The parent also cannot step into the batter’s box or take the field in the child’s place. Watching from the closest seat in the stadium is, the essayist wrote, harder than it looks.
The Car Ride Is Not a Review Session
The drive home is one of the few moments alone together, and many parents use it to process the game: Why didn’t you get in? The note essayist urged parents to resist that impulse.
The child may already be thinking harder about the reason than anyone else. Handing over a list of fixes before the child has sorted out the disappointment can feel like piling on. The essayist’s advice: don’t rush to an answer right after the game. “You worked hard today.” “It was hot out there.” “Are you hungry?” — sometimes that is enough for the day.
If the child starts talking, the essayist wrote, listen all the way through. Don’t interrupt with advice, don’t compare the child to anyone else, and don’t force the conversation toward something positive. If the child says, “It stung,” the essayist suggested simply acknowledging it: “I see. That really stung.” What a child often needs is not the right answer but a safe person to say the feeling out loud to.
Lessons Learned Beyond Performance Gaps
Baseball has stretches where hard work and results simply don’t line up. A player can practice daily and still not get into games. A swing can be rebuilt and still produce no hits. Defense can improve and still not earn a starting spot. The note essayist, who played through college, said those stretches are a real part of the sport.
Looking back, the essayist wrote, the results were not the only thing gained. The habit of practicing, the willingness to face weaknesses, relationships with teammates, and the way a player acts when things go wrong — those carried over into life after baseball. That is not an argument for telling a child to just endure it, the essayist cautioned. If effort isn’t producing results, it is fair to rethink practice methods or environment. What matters is not letting one game’s outcome decide the value of all the hours a child has put in. Even on a day with no results, the seeds of growth are still there.
Three Things Parents Can Actually Do
The essayist offered three concrete practices for parents of children who are riding the bench.
Look at change, not just results. Instead of “you didn’t get a hit again today,” notice something like “you tracked the ball all the way to the bat today” or “your throws have gotten steadier.” Small improvements in practice and preparation can be seen even when the box score shows nothing. Evaluating effort only by game results, the essayist wrote, misses what the child is actually building.
Ask the child before advising. Questions like “what do you want to do next?” or “what are you working on right now?” let the child lead. When the child asks for help, then help — be a throwing partner for extra practice, or help figure out how to ask the coach about a specific skill. The parent’s role is not to run the child’s baseball life.
Protect life outside baseball. During a stretch of not playing, conversations at home can drift toward nothing but baseball. The essayist urged parents to keep room for school friends, games, family meals, and ordinary days. A home where a child can be their normal self even after a hard day is itself a form of support.
Comparing Your Child to Teammates Helps No One
Youth baseball makes comparisons easy. “That kid is playing,” a parent might think. “We started at the same time — why the gap?” The note essayist acknowledged the impulse but pushed back: children develop at different rates, in body, skill, and mindset. A starter today is not guaranteed a future in the sport, and a bench player today is not guaranteed a bench forever.
That is not a reason to do nothing — finding current weaknesses and stacking the necessary practice still matters. But the essayist’s point was that beating other children and growing as your own child are not the same goal. The more useful comparison is with the child’s own yesterday, which tends to surface the hints that actually move a player forward.
Be the Place Your Child Can Come Back To
Baseball days include home runs and errors, starting nods and full games on the bench. The note essayist wrote that every one of those days is part of a child’s baseball life — but a parent’s love should not depend on the day’s result.
On the ride home after a game the child didn’t play, there is no need to force encouragement and no need to produce an answer. Just greet the child the way you always do. And when the child is ready to try again, be there to quietly push from behind. The child is the main character of their own baseball story, the essayist concluded; the parent’s role is to be the companion running alongside — not the coach, not the judge.
To the mothers and fathers who drove to the ballpark this weekend: you did the work too. Whatever kind of day it was for your child, the essayist wrote, the reassurance that someone at home will welcome them just as they are is what gives a young player the strength to take the next step.
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