Ten at-bats. Ten outs. For my 12-year-old son, each strikeout felt heavier than the last.
Baseball is a game built on failure — even the pros fall short most of the time — but for a kid, that kind of slump can feel like the end of the world. After struggling through multiple hitless games, he slumped into the car, feeling frustrated and defeated, and muttered, “I’m just not good at this anymore.”
Many parents would have responded the way our parents likely responded to us.: By saying something along the lines of, “You’re doing fine. Don’t worry about it. You’ll get the next one.”
But instead of brushing off his frustration, I told him the truth: he hadn’t been putting in the work at the plate. His mechanics were sloppy, and he hadn’t spent much time practicing outside of games. I told him that if he wanted different results, he had to adjust his effort.
I’ll admit, it wasn’t easy to say, and it certainly wasn’t easy for him to hear. But here’s what I’ve learned from both the classroom I once taught in and the kitchen table my family gathers at: kids don’t need us to protect them from failure. They need us to help them face it.
Teaching teachable moments
As a former teacher, I’ve seen hundreds of kids convinced they weren’t “math kids” or “good writers” simply because they stumbled. The ones who grew the most weren’t the ones who avoided mistakes — they were the ones who used those mistakes as teachable moments.
That’s the same shift I want my son to see in baseball. Striking out ten times doesn’t mean he’s a bad player. It means there’s a gap between where he is and where he wants to be — and practice is the bridge. Failure, when framed correctly, can be an opportunity for valuable feedback.
Why “you’re fine” isn’t enough
Parents often think encouragement means protecting kids’ feelings at all costs, and I’ll admit I’ve felt that way at times, too. But I’ve learned empty reassurance doesn’t help them grow. If I had told my son he was “doing fine,” he might have felt momentary relief, but he wouldn’t have had a reason to pick up his bat and work on his swing.
Kids are smart. They know when they’re struggling. When we dismiss that reality, we unintentionally teach them to ignore problems rather than solve them.
I started to shift the focus
Instead of praising results, I’ve learned to praise the effort my son puts into things. In teaching, I celebrated the students who revised their essays three times, not just the ones who scored a perfect grade on the first draft. At home, I told my son I was proud when he dragged himself out to the tee after dinner to work out the issue with his swing.
That small shift — valuing the process more than the outcome — changes how kids see failure. Suddenly, a strikeout isn’t proof they’re terrible. It’s just part of the process of getting better.
He made a breakthrough
A few weeks later, my son’s slump broke. His confidence wasn’t restored by me telling him he was “fine,” but by him putting in the work. When he finally connected for a double to the fence, he didn’t just feel relief, he felt pride. He knew he had earned it.
That’s a lesson bigger than baseball. Whether it’s striking out at the plate or struggling with algebra homework, kids need to know that setbacks don’t define them. What matters is how they respond. Our role is to steady them, remind them of their worth, and show them how to turn setbacks into stepping stones.
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