By Fangyuan Li
(February 27, 2026)

“Listen—if you lose, don’t expect lunch when we get home.”

From outside the fence, I heard a middle-aged man, with an accent, obviously a father, bark the comment above; his voice was flat and unquestionably directed at two kids playing a tennis match. His bark hooked me immediately. As a former tennis player and now a coach, that kind of language recalls memories I would rather keep buried. I could not help turning toward the court beside me to see what was happening.

It was a Saturday morning in early fall 2020, though Dallas still felt like summer. Even though the COVID-19 pandemic was already rampant at that time, the tennis court was not quiet. I was at a high-school tennis complex in Plano to coach a sixteen-year-old boy. The hard court was steaming hot, and the reflection of the sunlight on the ground was still dazzling. After I wrapped up the lesson, I walked over to the man who was still barking from the fence. Those two kids on the court were playing a match with melancholy faces that should have been happy. The game was frequently paused by the players because of the yelling father.

I introduced myself, kept it brief and polite, and asked, “Excuse me, are you a tennis coach?”

“No,” he said. “I’m not a coach. I’m their father.”

Only then did I notice that the two kids looked alike, one taller and a little older.

“So… if you’re not their coach, you must be a good tennis player yourself?” I asked.

“No. I don’t play tennis,” the middle-aged man said, scratching his neck with an awkward smile. “I’m too short, too heavy, honestly, I’m just not built for this sport.”

“But you’re teaching them how to play tennis, and even how to compete?”

“Uh… yes,” he admitted. “I have to. They both have matches tomorrow.”

By then, the boys had noticed our conversation. They stopped mid-rally and stood there, stock-still, each clutching a racquet, eyes drifting to their father as if waiting for their next command.

“You two, keep playing,” he called out. “I’m watching.”

“Did you just tell them there would be no lunch if they lost?” I asked. “I’m coaching on the next court—I heard you from there. I don’t mean to intrude.”

“Yeah,” he said. “If they want to get better and win tougher matches, the pressure is inevitable. You know? I’m putting pressure on them on purpose—so they improve.”

“That means one of them will not have lunch because the other one wins… right?”

He nodded. “Yes. If they don’t play well, that’s how it is.”

He went on, motioning toward the taller boy on the baseline. “Our older son—the taller one—he just started high school here. He does not have much talent in tennis, he can’t even make the Junior varsity, they have a good high school tennis team here, you know? But the younger one, he’s good. Only twelve, but already playing really well in his group. I’m focusing on developing him now.” As he spoke, a hint of pride tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“But since you’re not a coach—and you don’t play—what makes you so sure you can teach them?”

He answered without hesitation, full of confidence. “I’ve watched matches for years—ever since my older boy first picked up a racquet. I study tennis all the time. I know what they need to do to win.”

“Why not hire a professional coach for them?” I asked.

“They have a coach at school,” he said, “but how can one coach handle that many kids? They’ve got matches tomorrow, and the school coach won’t even be there. I’m the one who spends the most time with them. I have to. We also have to think about the cost. Raising kids isn’t easy these days, especially here in the U.S., you know?”

We chatted a bit more. He told me that most of his boys’ peers kept practicing in their free time—some hired extra coaches, others trained with their parents. He mentioned he was from Europe, though both sons were born in the U.S. “Where I’m from, there are many great tennis players,” he said, a spark in his eyes. “So I believe in my boys—especially the younger one. Maybe, one day, he could be a professional.”

A year later, back in China, I saw almost the same scene play out. I was working as a full-time professional coach with a fifteen-year-old player when, by chance, I noticed a familiar tension on the next court. Two parents stood at the fence, issuing nonstop corrections while their boys—this time twins—competed. The match turned raw. Both boys cried as they played. When it ended, the winner let out a cathartic shout; the loser hurled his racquet, sank to his knees on the baseline, and sobbed. Neither parent went to comfort the one who lost nor congratulate the one who won. Instead, in a flat voice, one of them said, “You two—hurry up. Pack your racquets, get changed. We’re going home for dinner.”

As a former athlete and a current coach, I was moved and felt responsible to talk with the parents. Neither parent had been an athlete, though the father was an avid tennis fan. The twins were ten, both started tennis at eight, and after just a year, their parents had decided they would take the professional path. The parents explained that in China, if you want a child to become an elite player, the “simplest” route is to follow the blue print of Li Na —a former Chinese professional tennis star, ranked as high as World No. 2, and the first Asian player to win a Grand Slam singles title, with major victories at the 2011 French Open and 2014 Australian Open. As parents, they believed, you must plan everything with precision and leave nothing to chance; only then can a child become great. They told me they had met with nearly every coach in the town before choosing this club. They had even bought an apartment nearby so the boys could train immediately after school. The entire family’s resources, they said, were aimed at turning the twins into professional tennis players.

When I asked whether the boys wanted to become pros, the answer became painfully clear: their wishes did not matter much. The decision belonged to their father. He was a former track athlete. He told me this is simply how families raise professional tennis players now. That’s why he and his wife had mapped out the boys’ future so tightly. He acknowledged the pressure on his sons, but kept emphasizing the current environment and the success stories he knew. They all followed a high-pressure, strict structure, relentless standards pathway, he said, and that’s the model he was determined to replicate. “Someone has to take responsibility,” he said. “A hired coach won’t push them like this. So I have to be the coach.”

What We Know, and What We Don’t—From Prior Work

As a coach, I spend substantial time with athletes, and that day-to-day contact creates a level of trust where they speak honestly about what helps—and what hurts. Through these conversations, I have become convinced that parental coaching (especially technical and tactical instruction delivered from the parent) is often both inappropriate and can be harmful to athletes’ well-being and focus.

Many young athletes say they do not know how to tell their parents that “more involvement” does not reduce pressure—it often increases it. Instead of feeling encouraged, they describe being distracted by constant comments, corrections, and advice before, during, or after training and competitions. From an ethics perspective, this is why Plato’s “do no harm” idea matters: parents are uniquely influential, and even well-intended feedback can carry extra emotional impact. When that influence adds stress, undermines confidence, or disrupts the athlete’s relationship with the coach and team, it violates the basic duty to protect athlete welfare—their child’s welfare.

Sports psychology research supports athletes’ concerns. Knight et al. (2010), in a study of junior tennis players’ preferences for parental behaviors during competitions, found that athletes generally prefer not to receive technical or tactical advice from their parents. Such advice is often perceived as unhelpful or pressuring rather than supportive. These findings reinforce the importance of evaluating parental involvement not by parental intention, but by its actual impact on athletes—specifically, whether it is experienced as beneficial support or as harmful pressure.

To clarify, my goal is not to exclude parents from sport, but to involve them in a positive appropriate, and ethical way. Parental participation is inevitable, and athletes often have clear preferences about how their parents should behave in sport contexts. However, the existing discussion still lacks detailed, athlete-centered descriptions of which specific parental “coaching” behaviors are helpful versus harmful. This leads to my central question: from the athlete’s perspective, is parental coaching perceived as beneficial support or harmful pressure?

In short, decades of research agree on two truths. First, supportive, autonomy-respecting parental involvement predicts better well-being, motivation, and performance (Bonavolontà, et al., 2021; Knight, et al., 2010). Second, controlling or contradictory involvement—especially post-game critiques and mixed tactical messages—elevates stress, anxiety, and burnout (Gould, et al., 1996). We also know that the level of parental sport experience cuts both ways: it can produce useful, task-focused advice, yet it can also slide into pressure if misaligned with the coach (Godfrey & Eys, 2020).

Most of this literature focuses on children and adolescents. But parental influence does not vanish at graduation from high school; it often evolves in college, where expectations, travel, and public scrutiny intensify. Here, the evidence thins. There is still a lack of detailed, athlete-centered descriptions that trace back from the athletes’ perspective to explain how their parents’ coaching behavior in their sports development and career influenced them (both positively and negatively).

Giving Athletes the Microphone

When parents step into a coaching role, what actually happens to a young person’s experience of sport? In an athlete-centered survey, current and former athletes rated how their parents (or primary caregivers) behaved in sport settings, whether those behaviors felt beneficial or harmful.

Across practice, competition, and everyday life, respondents reported experiencing more benefit from fathers than from mothers—but also more harm—especially in practice settings. Practice benefit: fathers 34.1% vs mothers 6.8%; practice harm: fathers 36.4% vs mothers 18.2%. In other words, paternal coaching tended to be more polarizing: associated with higher rates of perceived benefit and higher rates of harm.

Good paternal support can sharpen focus and motivation when it aligns with the sports team’s message and timing, but it can also heighten stress and conflict when it contradicts coaches. Especially if it arrives in the emotional heat of competition, or turns the car ride home into a second debrief. In short, paternal coaching tends to be more polarizing—capable of producing notable upside and notable downside.

How parents play a coach-like role in different settings matters. Practice was the most sensitive setting: directive instruction can be powerful when it accurately assist athletes, and counterproductive when it distracts or interferes with athletes’ choices and judgments. Competition demand restraint and timing; immediate on-game instructions are commonly felt as intrusive, regardless of who delivered them. Coaching in everyday life was where paternal support most reliably helped, provided it focused on recovery, encouragement, and perspective.

In conclusion, as a coaching professional, my aim is not to exclude parents; it is to find a way to include them in a positive way. The influence of parents’ coaching behavior can last from an athlete’s early years all the way to college. Many athletes tell me this over and over, and I’ve lived it from the bench: negative parent coaching often ends ugly.

As a coach, when you see a yelling parent on the side of the court, ask the following question:

“Do you want to be your kid’s coach—or their parent?”

Then help them understand how they can be a source of positive support in their child’s sport experience.

Selected References

Bonavolontà, V., Cataldi, S., Latino, F., Carvutto, R., De Candia, M., Mastrorilli, G., . . . Fischetti, F. (2021). The role of parental involvement in youth sport experience: Perceived and desired behavior by male soccer players. International Journal of Environmental Research and Public Health, 18(16), 8698. doi:https://doi.org/10.3390/ijerph

Godfrey, M., & Eys, M. (2020). Parental involvement in the transmission and development of youth athletes’ role. International Journal of Kinesiology in Higher Education, 4(1), 1-17. doi:https://doi.org/10.1080/24711616.2019.1633707

Gould, D., Tuffey, S., Udry, E., & Loehr, J. (1996). Burnout in competitive youth tennis players: II. Qualitative analysis. The Sport Psychologis, 10, 341-366. Retrieved from https://doi.org/10.1123/tsp.10.4.341

Knight, C. J., Boden, C. M., & Holt, N. L. (2010). Junior tennis players’ preferences for parental behaviors. Journal of Applied Sport Psychology, 22, 377–391. doi:doi:10.1080/10413200.2010.495324

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