Rick Fehr

Tryout Week Tryout week is one of the most nerve-wracking weeks of the whole year, and most of what makes it hard isn’t the golf. Boys team or girls team, it’s the same week. Your kid walks into a group where they know maybe three kids out of twenty. They don’t know who’s good. They don’t know where they fit. They’re doing the math on the range, watching the kid two spots down flush 7 irons, wondering what it means for them. Some of them are worried about letting you down and would never say it out loud. One goes quiet. One talks too much. One is up at midnight because their brain won’t shut off. Your intentions aren’t the problem In 25 years of coaching I’ve never met a parent who didn’t want their kid to succeed. Not one. You see your kid stressed and you want to help. Staying quiet feels like doing nothing. So you say something. “Just stick to your routine.” “Don’t three-putt out there.” “Shoot high 70s and you’ll be fine.” Every one comes from love. Every one lands as pressure. That last one sounds like reassurance. It isn’t. You just handed them a number, and now every hole gets measured against it. “Don’t three-putt” puts the exact picture in their head you didn’t want there. That’s where the nerves come from. That’s where the lost sleep comes from. And if it keeps up, that’s where you start losing the relationship, because a kid who feels judged by their parent stops talking to them about golf at all. Same intentions. Opposite result. Don’t be the tugboat A tugboat pushes. It shoves up against the ship and never stops, because the second it backs off the ship stops moving. Exhausting for both of them. A lighthouse never touches anything. It sits up on the hill, in the dark, in bad weather, and shines. It doesn’t chase. It doesn’t panic. It doesn’t go dim when the water gets rough. Your kid doesn’t need pushing this week. They’re already pushing harder than you know. They need to look up and see the light is on. So give them the six words that outlast every tryout, every season, and every scorecard they’ll ever sign: “I love to watch you play.” Then get out of the way. Ten years from now nobody’s going to remember what they shot this week. They’ll remember exactly how it felt getting in the car afterward. Five things to do this week 1. Don’t give them any instruction on how to play. None. No strategy, no reminders, no numbers, no “don’t do this.” Not on the drive over, not on the range, not on the putting green. That job belongs to their coach and to them. 2. Tell them you love them no matter what happens. Out loud, before they walk away from you. Not “good luck.” Not “play well.” Just that nothing about today changes anything between you two. 3. Tell them adversity is coming and you already know they’ll handle it. Something is going to go wrong out there. It goes wrong for everybody. Say it ahead of time so it isn’t a surprise, and tell them you have no doubt about how they’ll respond. 4. Tell them they’ll learn and grow from every round. Good one or bad one. Made it or didn’t. There’s no wasted round if they’re the kind of kid who takes something out of it, and they are. 5. Protect the car ride home. Say the six words, ask if they’re hungry, and then don’t initiate anything about the golf. Not that day, and give it 48 hours if you can. If they open the door, ask, don’t tell. No critique. Just be the lighthouse on the hill, always shining, always positive, always there. Your instincts all week are going to tell you to instruct and to help. Do. Not. Do. That. Be the lighthouse, not a tugboat.