How I Started Teaching Physics Online (And What It Teaches Kids Who Think They Hate Science)
The half-empty mug of coffee on my kitchen table had gone cold by the time Jace logged into our first online physics session last April. My 7-year-old’s rainbow unicorn drawing was taped crookedly to the bezel of my laptop, and the dog was scratching at the door to go out, so I was half-distracted when his name popped up in the Zoom waiting room. He was 12 minutes late, camera off, and his first mumbled line through the microphone was, “I just need to pass the retake. My mom made me do this.”
I was a high school physics teacher for eight years before I stepped back to stay home with my kids, so I’d heard that line a hundred times. Most kids don’t hate physics. They hate memorizing random formulas that don’t connect to anything they care about, and they hate being called on in front of 30 other kids when they don’t know the answer. I’d been thinking for months that I wanted to teach physics online, mostly because I missed working with kids who’d fallen through the cracks in overcrowded school classes, but I wasn’t sure it would work. Everyone says online teaching is impersonal, that you can’t connect with kids through a screen.
I didn’t push Jace to turn his camera on. A lot of new online teachers default to “turn your camera on” as a non-negotiable rule, but I’ve learned that kids already failing a class are often embarrassed by their space, or just don’t want someone watching them while they fumble through a problem. So instead I said, “No rush. What do you do when you’re not in physics class?” He paused for a minute, then said he skateboards, builds ramps with his cousin in his backyard, and had just bailed off his last one the weekend before and cracked his elbow.
I said, “That’s physics, right there. Why do you think you bailed?” We spent the whole 25-minute session talking about his ramp. I had him describe the angle of the launch, the weight of his board, how much speed he had going into it. I wrote the formula for gravitational potential energy on my tablet, but I tied every number to his ramp. Instead of plugging in fake numbers from a textbook, we plugged in his height, his weight, the height of his ramp. By the end of the session, he figured out himself that the launch angle was too steep, that he was launching straight up instead of forward. He turned his camera on for 10 seconds at the end just to show me a blurry photo of the cracked ramp leaning against his fence.
That’s the thing I didn’t expect when I decided I wanted to teach physics online: it’s actually easier to meet kids where they are than it was in a traditional classroom. In a room of 30, you have to teach to the test, keep everyone on the same schedule, stick to the textbook. Online, working one-on-one or with small groups of kids with the same struggles, I can tailor every session to what that kid cares about. If a kid plays soccer, we do physics on how to curve a free kick. If a kid bakes sourdough with their dad on weekends, we talk about gas laws when bread rises.
There are a few small, concrete things that have made this work that other parents or new online teachers can try, too. I don’t do hour-long sessions for middle or high schoolers who are struggling. Most kids can’t hold focus on a screen for an hour of one-on-one help, especially when they’re already stressed about the subject. I do 25 or 30 minute sessions, once or twice a week, which is easier to fit around their sports, part-time jobs, and other homework, and it doesn’t leave them burnt out. I also stick to that “no forced camera” rule for the first three sessions. If a kid wants to keep it off while they get comfortable, that’s fine. I’ve had multiple kids tell me that’s the reason they stuck with it, because their in-school teacher always called them out for having their camera off in remote sessions and made them feel bad for not being “on” all the time. I also don’t use any fancy expensive software. I just use Zoom and a $10 stylus for my old tablet, draw out problems as we talk, and email a photo of my notes to the kid after. No fancy learning management system, no expensive workbooks, just that.
It’s not all perfect, of course. Last month, a parent pulled their kid after three sessions because I wasn’t assigning a full page of practice problems every week. They wanted cramming for a midterm, not talking about how physics applies to their kid’s obsession with Minecraft redstone. I get it, tests matter, and I do practice problems once the kid actually understands the core concept. But if you don’t build the connection first, the formulas just get forgotten a week after the test anyway. Some weeks no new inquiries come in, some weeks I have to reschedule sessions because my own kid has a fever, and I still haven’t gotten around to updating my basic Google Site that lists my rates.
Jace passed his retake with a C+, which is all he needed to stay on track for graduation, and he’s been coming back once every two weeks this year. Last week, he showed me the new ramp he built, adjusted the angle like we figured out, and he got a 10-foot air without bailing. He told me he’s signing up for physics next year because he wants to figure out how to build a neighborhood half-pipe, and he needs the physics to make it safe.
I still don’t have big plans for this. I’m not trying to grow it into a big tutoring company or anything. I just wanted to teach physics online, one kid at a time, to the kids who’ve already decided they aren’t “science people.” It fits around my life, it fits around their lives, and most days it works well enough. Some kids stay, some kids leave after they pass their test, and that’s okay. I’m just happy when one more kid leaves a session thinking physics isn’t as scary as they thought it was.
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