It usually comes out at bedtime, doesn’t it? Quiet house, lights down, and suddenly she drops it: “Mom, Coach has a favorite, and it’s not me.” Nine years old, and already she’s bumping into one of those “oldest kids in the world” moments in some gym that smells like popcorn. Fun.
Here’s the gut punch nobody likes: She’s probably right. Kids this age are hit-or-miss at long division, but they’re world-class at reading rooms. She’s not just guessing. She’s been watching who gets the laughs and who gets the sighs for months now, and she knows what she sees.
Nope. Hear me out. That opening, “I’m sure Coach treats everyone the same”, that’s not comfort. That’s basically telling her, “Hey, your eyes are broken.” And when you teach a kid that her own observations get overruled, she eventually stops bringing you her observations. That’s what’s actually at stake in this bedtime ambush: her trust that you actually want to know what she sees.
So try this instead. Start with, “You know what? You might be right.” Sometimes coaches click with certain kids. Sometimes teachers do too. (Let’s not even get started on grandmothers.) It’s just one of those strange rules of people. Watch her shoulders drop when she hears you say it out loud. Being believed is most of what she actually needed tonight.
Hand her two lists, the whole trick here, and it works just as well whether you’re nine or forty.
List one: The stuff she can’t control. Who Coach clicks with. Who gets the warm voice. Whose name gets called first.
List two: What she can. Her effort. Her attitude. Her skills. How she treats her teammates. How coachable she is.
Then own the secret: Kids who pour everything into list two have a funny way of becoming impossible to ignore. Not always (let’s be honest, favorite status is not a life sentence, it’s weather, and it changes with seasons, coaches, and one good month of practices), but often enough to matter.
Quiet homework time, don’t skip this: There’s a difference between a coach with a soft spot and a coach doing real damage. The soft spot stuff? Somebody else gets the warm voice or a little extra attention. Annoying? Sure. End of the world? Not so much.
Damage is something else. That’s when your kid’s riding the bench every game, ignored in drills, or, yikes, mocked by the adult in charge. That’s your cue to watch a practice or two with fresh eyes, not looking for monsters under every cone, but truly sorting out what’s going on. Garden-variety favoritism? That’s a life lesson. Actual hurt happening? Now you talk to the coach, and you’ll know the difference when you see it.
But a little warning, don’t become the parent who audits every whistle blow forever. If your kid grows up hearing you hunting for unfairness every week, she’ll start hunting for it herself. Believe her. Equip her. Check it, and then let the season breathe.
And when she circles back, because, trust, nine-year-olds will keep their receipts, “Why does Coach like her more?” There isn’t a good answer. Sometimes there’s just no why, honey. People click like puzzle pieces, and it’s nobody’s fault. Shrug, hug, move on.
Most important, notice her yourself. Your warm voice at home cancels out a lot of cold ones. And keep her close to her teammates. The favorite thing shrinks inside a pack of strong friendships.
One day, she might be the favorite. Different coach, different year. Teach her what to do with that, too: share the warm voice and pull an overlooked kid into the drill. Fairness gets learned from both chairs.
So next bedtime, just ask her, “What makes you think so?” And listen, really listen, for facts or feelings. That’s the move. That’s all of it.
