The Car Ride Home, Part 2: What Kids Hear When We Talk

In the last post, I shared the story of a cold, rainy night when my son walked off the field nearly in tears and said he never wanted to play again. He had a tough time against a physical team, picked up a minor injury, lost his favorite ball, and felt like nothing went his way.

Now, I want you to step into the car with us.

He climbs into his seat up front. He slams the door a little harder than usual. He pulls the seatbelt across his chest and clicks it in. Then he turns his head to the window and stares out into the dark.

His jaw is tight. His eyes are still red from fighting back the tears. His shoulders are hunched. He does not ask for a snack. He does not reach for the radio. He does not say a word.

I settle into the driver’s seat and start the car. The wipers scrape across the windshield. As we pull away from the parking lot, the field lights fade behind us.

There are no cheers or yelling now. It is just the sound of the silence and the rain.

What That Silence Really Feels Like

If you have ever driven home like that, you know the silence is not empty. It is heavy.

In the driver’s seat, I feel a mix of things.

I am frustrated about the game.
I am worried about his injury.
I am annoyed that he lost his ball.
I am already thinking of all the things I could say to help him play better next time.

At the same time, I can feel his tension from the seat next to me. He is not only upset about the game. He is bracing himself for what he expects will come next.

He knows the ride home pattern. Most kids do.

In that silence, many kids are asking themselves:

• “Am I in trouble?”

• “Did I let my parents down?”

• “Are they mad at me?”

• “Is this going to be one of those car rides?”

They are not sitting there thinking about long-term development plans. They are wondering if they are still okay with the adults who matter most to them.

Why The Car Ride Feels So Big To Kids

In Level Up Your Child’s Play, I talk about how kids ages six to thirteen experience youth sports. For them, sports are not just games. They are more emotional than physical.

They are learning:

• What it feels like to succeed and to fail.

• How adults react when they mess up.

• Whether their effort matters more than the score.

• Whether they are safe to try, or expected to be perfect.

When all they want to do is:

• Play with their friends.

• Have fun.

Research on youth sports and motivation keeps coming back to the same point. Kids stay in sports when it feels fun, challenging in a good way, and emotionally safe. They drift away when it feels like constant pressure and judgment.

The car ride home sits right in the middle of that emotional situation. The car is a small space where all the feelings from the game have nowhere else to go. There is no locker room to spread out in. No field to run on. Just a few feet of space and a lot of unspoken tension.

What we say in that moment matters.
How we sit in that silence matters too.

Silence Is Not Neutral

It is easy to think, “I did not yell. I did not lecture. I stayed quiet. That is good enough.”

Sometimes that is true. If you are truly calm and your child knows they are safe, a quiet ride can be a gift. The problem is when the silence is not calm. It is tight and cold. You know that feeling as an adult. Someone is clearly upset. They say very little. You feel the anger even though they have not said anything outright.

Kids feel that too, especially when it is a pattern.

When we grip the wheel a little harder, sigh a little louder, or drive a little faster, they notice. When our answers are short and our face is hard, they fill in the blanks.

They think:

• “They are mad at me.”

• “I played so badly they do not even want to talk to me.”

• “It would be better if I just quit so we do not have nights like this.”

There is a difference between healthy debriefs and emotional dumping. Silent anger is still a form of emotional dumping. We may think we are protecting our child by not saying much, but often we are just forcing them to carry our feelings in their own head. They know our feelings whether we verbalize them or not.

The Moment I Remembered The Car Had A Job

Driving home that night, with my son staring out the window and saying nothing, I had forgotten that the car ride had a specific job. Without thinking about it, I had started treating the ride home like:

• A performance review

• A place to fix everything right away

• A chance to push him to be better

What my son needed, especially after a night like that, was very different.

He needed:

• A place to feel safe

• A chance to cool down

• A reminder that my love did not depend on goals, wins, or perfect games

That does not mean we never talk about mistakes or growth. It means we choose our time and place carefully. The car, in the first few minutes after a tough game, is a fragile space.

What Comes Next

So far, in this Car Ride Home series, we have:

• Looked at why the car ride matters

• Shared a real game where my son wanted to quit

• Sat in that heavy silence in his seat and tried to understand what it meant

The next step is to name what usually happens when we try to fill that silence.

In the next post, I will walk through the most common car ride mistakes many of us make. We will talk about instant replay lectures, questioning the coach, comparison talk, and that silent anger that feels like punishment.

Most of us have done at least one of these. The goal is not to beat ourselves up. It is to see the pattern clearly, so we can start changing it.

Look for the next post in this series, “The Car Ride Home, Part 3: What Kids Hear When We Talk.” That is where we will break down these habits and see how they land in the back seat.