Shohei Ohtani: The Making of Greatness
What Japan’s extraordinary baseball export can teach us about raising children to pursue greatness
International Expat Sports Stars
There is a moment in almost every immigrant or expat family’s story when the question of where you are from becomes inseparable from the question of where you are going.
For some families, that journey is geographical. A child is born in one country, educated in another, and eventually builds a career somewhere entirely different. For others, the journey is more internal: the child grows up between cultures, languages, expectations and possibilities, carrying pieces of home while reaching toward a world considerably larger than it.
Shohei Ohtani’s story is, in many ways, a remarkable expression of that idea.
Born in July 1994 in Ōshū, Iwate Prefecture, Japan, Ohtani grew up far from the bright lights of Tokyo or the American professional sports establishment. His father, Tōru, had played amateur baseball; his mother, Kayoko, played badminton. As a boy, Shohei played multiple sports, including swimming, and eventually joined a local baseball team.
There was talent, certainly.
But talent is the least interesting part of the story.
The more interesting question is what happened after talent appeared.
Because Ohtani’s journey from a boy playing baseball in rural Japan to a global sports phenomenon in Los Angeles was not simply a story of extraordinary physical ability. It was also a story about parents, coaches, habits, expectations, education, imagination and—perhaps most importantly—the freedom to pursue an unusually large idea.
Today, Ohtani is one of the most recognizable athletes in the world. He has done something that baseball itself once seemed reluctant to imagine at the modern professional level: he became an elite pitcher and an elite hitter simultaneously.
In 2024, his first season with the Los Angeles Dodgers, he became the first player in Major League Baseball history to record at least 50 home runs and 50 stolen bases in the same season. He finished with 54 home runs and 59 stolen bases, helped the Dodgers win the World Series, and was unanimously named National League MVP.
But if we want to understand Ohtani, we should go backward.
Before the Dodgers.
Before the Angels.
Before America.
Before Japan’s professional leagues.
Before the headlines.
There was a boy, a baseball, and a family that created an environment in which he could become unusually good at something he loved.
And perhaps that is where the lessons for parents begin.
The First Lesson: Don’t Confuse Talent With Destiny
Ohtani was obviously gifted.
Even as a child, he demonstrated unusual athletic ability. His father remembers playing catch with him and eventually coaching him from elementary school through junior high. But there was another important element to his development: his father kept a notebook with him.
The two would write back and forth about practices and games, recording what went well and what needed improvement.
It wasn’t simply a record of accomplishments.
It was a conversation.
Ohtani’s father wanted his son to learn to analyze his own performance—to put his experience into words and think about what he could do differently next time.
That distinction matters.
A child who hears, “You’re talented,” learns that talent is an identity.
A child who hears, “What did you learn today?” learns that ability is something that can be developed.
Those are radically different ideas.
The first can create pressure to protect a reputation.
The second creates permission to experiment.
For parents, particularly parents raising children across cultures, this may be one of the most valuable distinctions of all.
Our children are constantly being labeled.
Smart.
Athletic.
Musical.
Shy.
Gifted.
Creative.
Behind.
Advanced.
The danger is that children can eventually begin performing for the label rather than pursuing the underlying activity.
Ohtani’s early environment appears to have emphasized something different: observe, reflect, adjust and try again.
The Father Who Was Also the Coach
There is another remarkable detail about Ohtani’s childhood.
His father coached his teams.
But according to Ohtani’s recollection, being his father’s son did not guarantee him special treatment.
He still had to earn his position.
Ohtani later described this as an important lesson: being someone’s son did not entitle him to playing time. He had to earn his place alongside everyone else.
That is a deceptively powerful parenting philosophy.
Parents naturally want to protect their children.
We want them to succeed.
We want to open doors.
We want to make things easier.
But there is a difference between creating opportunity and manufacturing outcomes.
The first says:
Here is the field. Go see what you can do.
The second says:
I will make sure you win.
The first develops agency.
The second can develop dependency.
Ohtani’s parents provided the environment, but the evidence from his upbringing suggests that the work itself remained his responsibility.
That distinction becomes even more important when the child possesses extraordinary potential.
The Decision to Think Bigger
As a teenager, Ohtani’s ambitions became unusually large.
He attended Hanamaki Higashi High School in Iwate Prefecture, a school that had already produced another Japanese baseball standout, Yusei Kikuchi.
His coach, Hiroshi Sasaki, recognized Ohtani’s physical potential but took an unusually long-term approach to developing it.
At 15, Ohtani was tall and extremely thin. His fastball was already impressive, but Sasaki understood that the teenager was still physically developing. Rather than rushing him, he deliberately limited his pitching early in high school and emphasized gradual development.
That philosophy would prove consequential.
At Hanamaki Higashi, Ohtani was not simply told to work harder.
He was encouraged to think about what he wanted to become.
And this is where one of the most famous artifacts of his development enters the story.
The 81 Squares
At approximately 16 years old, Ohtani created what has become known as his Mandala Chart, a goal-setting system used at Hanamaki Higashi.
In the center was an enormous ambition:
Become a first-round draft pick by eight teams.
Around that central goal were eight supporting objectives, including physical development, pitching control, velocity, breaking pitches, mental strength, character and what the chart described as luck or karma. Those objectives were then broken down into smaller actions.
Look closely at that list.
It wasn’t simply:
Throw harder.
It wasn’t:
Hit more home runs.
It wasn’t even:
Become a better baseball player.
Ohtani’s framework included things that had nothing directly to do with baseball mechanics.
Character.
Mental strength.
Luck.
And, famously, ordinary behaviors such as greeting people properly, cleaning his surroundings and picking up trash were included among the actions associated with cultivating that broader idea of “luck.”
That may be the most fascinating part of the entire exercise.
A teenager dreaming about becoming a professional athlete was already being encouraged to understand that greatness was not one skill.
It was a system.
What If We Taught Children to Think in Systems?
This is where Ohtani’s story becomes much bigger than baseball.
Imagine asking a 15-year-old:
What do you want to become?
The answer might be:
A professional athlete.
A doctor.
An entrepreneur.
A filmmaker.
A scientist.
A musician.
Most adults would then tell the child to work hard.
But what if we asked a different set of questions?
What skills would you need?
What habits would support those skills?
What kind of person would you need to become?
Who would you need around you?
What would you need to learn?
What weaknesses would you have to address?
What behaviors would make people want to help you?
What sacrifices might be necessary?
And what things have nothing to do with the profession itself—but might still determine whether you succeed?
That is essentially what Ohtani’s teenage goal framework represented.
It transformed an enormous, abstract dream into a collection of smaller behaviors.
Dream → system → habits → repetition.
That is a lesson parents can use regardless of whether their child ever picks up a baseball.
The Two-Way Child
Perhaps the most consequential thing about Ohtani’s development was that he refused to fit neatly into one category.
He wanted to pitch.
He wanted to hit.
In an era in which specialization had become increasingly common, Ohtani pursued both.
When he entered the Nippon Professional Baseball system, the Hokkaido Nippon-Ham Fighters were willing to let him develop as a two-way player. That opportunity helped preserve an ambition that might easily have been eliminated by conventional thinking.
Eventually, the teenager who wanted to do two things professionally arrived in America.
The Los Angeles Angels signed him in 2017.
And then the experiment became real.
Ohtani was no longer merely a fascinating Japanese prospect.
He was attempting to prove that the boundaries separating pitcher and hitter were not necessarily permanent.
He succeeded.
In 2022, he became the first player in MLB history to qualify for the league leaderboards as both a hitter and a pitcher in the same season.
The world had spent decades telling baseball players to choose.
Ohtani’s answer was essentially:
Why?
The Expat Advantage
There is something particularly interesting about Ohtani’s story when viewed through the lens of expatriate life.
Moving between countries can be difficult.
There are language barriers.
Cultural differences.
New expectations.
New institutions.
New social rules.
The immigrant or expat child can sometimes feel as though they belong everywhere and nowhere.
But there can also be an extraordinary advantage.
Children who grow up across cultures learn, often earlier than their peers, that there is more than one way to see the world.
Ohtani didn’t simply move from Japan to America.
He carried one baseball culture into another.
He became a bridge between them.
And baseball became a global language through which millions of people could understand him.
His arrival in Los Angeles amplified that effect dramatically. The Dodgers understood that signing Ohtani meant acquiring not merely a remarkable baseball player but an athlete with enormous international reach.
Japan watched Los Angeles.
Los Angeles watched Japan.
And the rest of the world watched both.
That is the essence of the modern expat experience:
You don’t necessarily leave one world behind. You learn how to operate in two.
Greatness Requires Patience
There is another lesson buried beneath the spectacular statistics.
Ohtani’s career has not been an uninterrupted ascent.
He has undergone major injuries and rehabilitation. His return to pitching required patience, and in 2025 he returned to the mound after another elbow surgery, eventually reaching a fastball velocity of 101.7 mph.
In 2026, the story has continued to evolve. Ohtani returned to pitching during the season but later dealt with physical issues that interrupted his pitching progression; by September he said he expected to focus on hitting for the remainder of 2026 rather than return to the mound that season.
For a child who has been told they are destined for greatness, injury can be psychologically devastating.
The identity becomes:
I am the great athlete.
Then the body says:
Not today.
Ohtani’s career offers another model.
The objective is not simply to reach a destination.
It is to continue developing.
To adapt.
To change the plan without abandoning the ambition.
That distinction is crucial.
What Parents Can Actually Learn From Ohtani
There is a temptation when looking at someone like Ohtani to conclude that the lesson is:
Train your child harder.
That would be the wrong lesson.
There is no formula that guarantees a child becomes Shohei Ohtani.
There shouldn’t be.
The point isn’t to manufacture another Ohtani.
The point is to create conditions in which a child can discover their own version of excellence.
Ohtani’s childhood suggests several principles worth considering.
1. Let children explore before they specialize.
Ohtani played multiple sports, including swimming, before baseball became his dominant pursuit. His father believed those activities helped him develop body awareness and athletic versatility.
2. Give children ambitious goals—but make them concrete.
“Be great” is meaningless.
A specific objective can be measured, questioned and broken into actions.
3. Teach reflection.
The notebooks Ohtani kept with his father encouraged him to think about what happened rather than simply experience it.
4. Develop the person, not merely the performer.
Ohtani’s teenage goal framework included character and mental strength alongside physical skills.
5. Don’t confuse support with control.
Parents can create opportunity without dictating the outcome.
6. Find coaches who see the long game.
Hiroshi Sasaki resisted rushing Ohtani’s physical development and deliberately treated his progress as a marathon.
7. Let children imagine something that adults consider unusual.
The two-way baseball player was not an obvious proposition.
Sometimes the role of an adult is not to explain why an idea won’t work.
Sometimes it is to help a young person discover whether it can.
The Question Isn’t “Will My Child Be the Next Ohtani?”
That is the wrong question.
There will probably never be another Shohei Ohtani.
And that is precisely why his story is so compelling.
The more useful question is:
What would happen if we raised children who believed they were allowed to pursue an unusually large life?
Not necessarily a famous life.
Not necessarily a wealthy life.
Not necessarily a professional-athlete life.
A life in which they can combine interests rather than choosing between them.
A life in which moving to another country isn’t necessarily a loss of identity but an expansion of it.
A life in which failure becomes information.
A life in which discipline is not punishment but a mechanism for turning ambition into reality.
And perhaps most importantly, a life in which character is treated as part of achievement rather than something separate from it.
From Ōshū to Los Angeles
The geographical distance between Ōshū and Los Angeles is roughly the distance between the world Ohtani was born into and the world he eventually conquered.
But the real distance was psychological.
At 16, he was already imagining a professional future.
At 18, he threw a 160-kilometer-per-hour fastball—more than 99 mph—in Japan’s high school competition.
At 23, he crossed the Pacific.
At 29, he became baseball’s first 50-home-run, 50-stolen-base player.
At 30, he won the World Series with the Dodgers and another unanimous MVP award.
And the story continues.
But perhaps the most remarkable part isn’t the numbers.
It is that somewhere along the way, a child was encouraged to imagine something that had not yet been proven possible.
Then someone helped him break that dream into pieces.
Then he practiced those pieces.
For years.
And eventually the world began calling it greatness.
The Expat Lesson
For families living abroad, raising children between countries, cultures and expectations, Ohtani’s story offers a particularly powerful idea:
Home does not have to be the place that limits your horizon. It can be the place from which you launch.
His story began in a small Japanese community.
His ambitions eventually crossed an ocean.
His identity did not disappear when he moved.
It expanded.
And perhaps that is the real promise of raising children in a global world.
We cannot know what our children will become.
We cannot manufacture greatness.
We cannot guarantee championships, scholarships, careers or fame.
But we can give them something potentially more valuable:
a large imagination, a strong foundation, good people around them, the ability to reflect on their failures, and the confidence to pursue a goal that might initially seem unreasonable.
Shohei Ohtani did not become Shohei Ohtani because someone handed him a blueprint for greatness.
He became himself.
The blueprint merely helped him understand what to do next.
And perhaps that is the lesson worth passing to the next generation.
Don’t raise children to become the next Ohtani.
Raise them to believe they can become the best version of whoever they are capable of becoming.
Because greatness has no single nationality.
No single address.
And, as Ohtani’s career continues to demonstrate, sometimes the most interesting journeys begin far from where the world eventually discovers them.
