My two sons are in their early 20s, already out of the house and doing well for themselves.
That's because when they were in Little League, I didn't camp out at their practices with a lawn chair and a cooler full of enough drinks to sate the thirst of a small Somalian town like the other parents did.
I remember getting dirty looks from those parents as I dropped them off at practice and told them I'd be back a couple hours later. Everybody else felt obligated to sit in those damn lawn chairs every single practice "cheering" their little brats as they fielded (or didn't field) some ground balls and took a few weak swings at the plate with their oversized batting helmets.
Me, I couldn't care less. My kids were on their own when it came to ball practice because I had errands to run, books to read, etc. I might have shown up at an actual game now and again but that was about it.
When raising the two boys, I was definitely a "come home when the street lights turn on" kind of parent. I let them explore their neighborhood, get into a little trouble, skin their knees once in a while. And guess what, they grew up and became independent at a fairly early age while their peers still live in their parent's basement watching Green Day concerts and working some dead end part time job at the Orange Julius over at the mall.
Waiting for their parents to die so they can inherit the house because they aren't going to get off their butts to go get a house of their own.
I used to play in hig school sports and spectators might number 20 per game.