A New Season, A New Lens From Where I Sit — Essay

I have no distinguishable backside. And after years of reflection, I am fairly certain I know why.

A significant portion of my life has been spent on bleachers—watching, coaching, cheering, learning. Before any of that, though, my very first role in sports was as a player, a marginally decent one.

After giving birth to three daughters, my only real hope was that they would inherit their father’s athletic prowess. Spoiler alert—they did.

From there, my life in sports unfolded in a familiar rhythm: player, fan, parent, coach—oh, the stories I could tell—then back again to parent and fan. And now, here I am once more on the bleachers, only this time as a grandmother. A new season. A new title. And, thankfully, new and improved lenses.

My granddaughter plays on an 11-3’s club volleyball team. She is nine. Her teammates range from nine to eleven, and for many of them—and their parents—this is their first experience on a team. Which means the gym is not just a place for sport. It is a classroom for everyone.

Sit in the stands long enough and you will hear it: “Be aggressive!” “Call the ball!” “Just get it over!” The energy is real. The investment is genuine. And the intention is good. But sometimes, it is a bit much.

At one point, I found myself gently reminding my husband that he did not need to comment on every play—even if it was only whispered in my ear. And if I am honest, I have had my own moments. There was the time I loudly called out “Point!” from the sidelines when the young scorekeeper missed it. Which, in my defense, was accurate. But also…not my job.

In that moment, it struck me: the children are not the only ones learning here.

Years ago, my son-in-law shared a phrase that has stayed with me ever since: lower expectations, raise aspirations. Through a lens of expectation, we notice mistakes. Through a lens of aspiration, we see effort, courage, and growth in real time. These children are not failing. They are learning.

Watching a young team develop is a lesson in patience. At first, it can feel chaotic. Balls drop untouched. Players hesitate. Communication is more hopeful than effective. And then, slowly, something shifts. A serve clears the net. A pass connects. Someone calls “Mine” and takes it. Not perfection. But progress.

And then there is the moment that matters most. The shy, unsure child makes a play, and you see it in their face—joy, pride, a spark of belief. That is the magic. That moment is what keeps them coming back. Because they will fall short again. That is not failure. That is the process. And if we are paying attention, we realize this is not just sports. It is life.

At one tournament, a parent asked my daughter—the head coach—why another team was being told exactly where to serve, while ours was not. It led to a deeper conversation about coaching philosophy. There is a time to direct, and a time to develop. If we remove the moment where a child must think and decide, we may get a better point—but we lose a better player.

My daughter played volleyball at the Division I level. She now coaches alongside young assistants who are learning how to lead. This gym is a petri dish of growth. Players, coaches, and parents are all learning together.

I care deeply about this because I have seen the alternative. Years ago, I watched a coach berate young players, even allowing “You guys suck” to be said aloud. After being told to stay in my lane, I chose a different path. I found a new coach—a former collegiate player, a woman—and stepped in to help. And just like that, I became a coach. And my lens changed.

Having experienced this from every angle, I can say this: the stands are not the place for coaching. Our role is to support. At the end of the day, the most important words we can offer are simple: “I love to watch you play.”

So here I sit once again on the bleachers, watching young athletes figure it out—not perfectly, but wholeheartedly. And through this lens, I see it clearly. This is courage. This is growth. This is becoming.

And lest we think I am too old to learn… I am about to order a cushy bleacher seat, because there are many more gyms—and likely a few ice rinks—in my future. Our grandsons are leaning towards Hockey.  A new season. Another sport. Another lens.

— Katie