Magic of the Whiteboard
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Magic of the Whiteboard 〰️
15 October 2023
"If you need a presentation, you do not know what you are talking about." — Steve Jobs
After spending the summer diving into The Infinite Game by Simon Sinek and Think Again by Adam Grant, I returned to school in 2023 with a completely new perspective, starting with my office. I cleared the walls of generic artwork, removed the 55-inch television and reimagined the space with intention. With help from our custodian, I mounted a dry erase board. I added four chairs around a round table, and aside from a small corner for charging my laptop, the room became a blank canvas.
Why the shift?
Because every situation involving people is unique and requires a flexible, human-centered approach. Whether I'm supporting peer mediation, collaborating with teachers or brainstorming solutions to challenges that don’t yet exist, one tool remains constant: the dry erase board.
It’s a shared visual space where thinking becomes visible. It helps generate lists, sort ideas, track goals and adapt on the fly. Whether it's the large wall-mounted board or the smaller tabletop and lap versions I use daily, these simple surfaces have transformed the way I problem-solve in real time and in real collaboration.
I’ve seen the impact firsthand. Students have used dry erase spaces to navigate social challenges, build their own behavior plans, reflect on goals and much more. There’s a certain magic in seeing ideas take shape as they’re spoken, sketched and revised right in front of you.
So here’s my challenge to you: for your next professional development session or lesson, ditch the slides. Instead, hand out dry erase boards, markers and trust in human ingenuity. You’ll be surprised by what happens when thinking is made visible.
Bias Through Ubiquity
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Bias Through Ubiquity 〰️
30 March 2022
Rethinking Rigor: Are We Penalizing Students for the Wrong Skills?
A few weeks ago, while lesson planning in the library, I overheard a conversation between two teachers that stopped me in my tracks.
"It's ridiculous how long it takes them to type. And then I have to give them a bad grade because they can't type."
That comment stuck with me. I let it sit for a few days, and I even lost sleep over it. Not because students struggle with typing, but because of what that struggle is being used to justify.
Let’s be honest: where in our state standards does it say, “Students must type”? It doesn’t. Yet typing, and many other peripheral skills, are quietly becoming gatekeepers to academic success. When we hold students accountable for skills that aren’t tied directly to learning objectives, we risk missing the point entirely.
Typing is just one example. Whether a student types a sentence, handwrites it or speaks it aloud and records it, the question should be the same: Does this demonstrate mastery of the standard?
When we confuse the method with the mastery, we place unnecessary barriers in front of students. We grade their typing speed instead of their understanding. We assess their familiarity with tools rather than their grasp of concepts.
Imagine judging an adult’s driving skills based solely on their ability to operate a manual transmission, when they’ve only ever driven automatics. It’s an outdated expectation that fails to reflect the reality of the world they live in.
Let’s extend that same empathy to our students. Let’s focus less on how they show what they know, and more on what they’re actually learning.
Fear in the Unknown
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Fear in the Unknown 〰️
12 January 2022
The Disconnect: When Forward-Thinking Teaching Meets Traditional Systems
As I progress in my career, I find myself exploring new opportunities with increasing curiosity. Whenever a job is posted, I can't help but wonder: Is the grass greener on the other side?
This curiosity has led me to interview across a range of districts. Some offers have come through, but I haven’t always accepted. Others have gone another direction. Often, the feedback sounds like this:
"We love your ideas, but we're choosing someone who’s a better fit for the team."
Or more recently:
"We’re planning to implement some of your strategies, but we’ve decided to hire someone with more experience."
It’s an odd feeling, hearing your ideas praised, only to see them implemented by someone else. Clearly, these decisions aren’t questioning my ability to work collaboratively. But they have made me reflect: Am I selling the right vision, but explaining it in the wrong way?
One interview crystallized this for me. Afterward, an assistant principal candidly said:
"I'll be honest, David. I didn’t understand half of what you were saying."
At first, I was disappointed. Time and again, I was receiving compliments but being passed over. But that moment sparked deeper reflection:
When I graduated from the University of Northern Colorado with a degree in history and a teaching license, I was already immersed in project-based and personalized learning. My instructional foundation was built on student-centered practices and it has only evolved further since then.
Many administrators on hiring panels likely earned their principal licenses and master's degrees before I even began teaching. We are, in some cases, speaking entirely different pedagogical languages.
I’m a constructive educator. I encourage students to think critically, engage deeply and interact with learning in ways they may have never experienced before. I love what I do, and I believe strongly in the power of transformative education. But lately, I’ve started to wonder: Is my approach too much? Do I need to scale back my language or delivery when talking to others in the profession?
That reflection took me back to my student teaching days.
A Tale of Two Lessons
In one memorable lesson, I had my 10th grade social studies students partner up, grab some Play-Doh and build interactive maps of Allied and Axis powers during World War II. Afterward, they added an analytical component and rotated around the room in a museum-style gallery walk. The class concluded with students writing a CER (Claim-Evidence-Reasoning) about the impacts of WWII on Europe.
Engagement was high. Learning was visible. It was, by most measures, a success.
But the feedback?
"I saw a lot of what the students were doing... but I didn’t see you teach anything."
That moment stuck with me. It made me question everything I thought I knew about teaching.
A few weeks later, my academic advisor from UNC returned for another observation. She had the demeanor of a Dolores Umbridge type—rigid, traditional and unimpressed by anything outside the norm. Determined to meet her expectations, I played it safe.
I greeted students at the door, passed out an article and lined paper, and projected the text using an overhead projector, yes, the old-school kind. We read together, underlined key phrases and walked through the CER writing process. I called on students. They responded. Everyone finished with a completed CER.
And this time? She loved it.
But I knew I had abandoned what I believed in. I had sacrificed the very principles I had spent years studying, all for a checkbox observation and validation from someone who couldn’t see the shift happening in education.
Bridging the Gap
What I’ve come to realize is this: there’s a significant disconnect between innovative educators and the systems meant to support them. I’m not referring to average teachers. I’m talking about those who are empowering learners, thriving through challenges and pushing the boundaries of traditional education.
So I ask:
Should we dilute transformational pedagogy to make it more palatable?
Should we avoid topics that challenge outdated norms, simply because they’re misunderstood?
Are we, in our pursuit of something better, unintentionally intimidating others?
Maybe. Maybe not. But if nothing else, I’ve collected some memorable stories.
And in every interview, or even just over coffee, I now have a great question to close the conversation:
"So... which version of David Popp would you want teaching your kids?"
Square Peg - Round Hole
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Square Peg - Round Hole 〰️
20 September 2021
Rethinking Meetings: Shifting the Focus from Students to Practice
Educators are constantly pulled in multiple directions and nowhere is this more evident than in meetings. Often seen as another task added to an already full plate, meetings can feel like obligations rather than opportunities for growth.
But what if the issue isn't the meeting itself, but the way we approach it? What if the transformation begins with a simple philosophical shift?
Too often, meetings center on student deficits:
"This student is never on time."
"That student reads far below grade level."
"As a team, we need to target three students..." an arbitrary number with no clear rationale.
This deficit-based mindset fosters frustration and burnout. But as Dr. Alfred Lanning famously stated in I, Robot: "You must ask the right questions."
What if we reframed the conversation? What if the focus moved from what students are or aren’t doing, to what teachers are doing to improve their craft?
This shift redirects the narrative from blame to growth. Educators become active participants in refining their practice, engaging in authentic collaboration and exploring creative solutions, not just to help individual students, but to elevate the entire learning environment.
This concept parallels Billy Beane’s approach as executive of the Oakland Athletics. With one of the smallest budgets in professional sports, Beane built competitive teams through data-driven decisions, creativity and a focus on long-term development. While his methods may not have delivered a World Series win, he once quipped, "My shit doesn’t work in the playoffs,” his organization has consistently outperformed expectations by building a culture of continuous improvement.
In education, we often treat standardized testing like the World Series. We plan, stress and obsess over results. But maybe it’s time to adopt Beane’s mindset: we're not preparing students for one test, we’re preparing them for the majors. For life.
That means developing well-rounded learners who can think critically, collaborate and adapt. It means focusing on everyday practice. Just as professional athletes train daily, students need consistent opportunities to learn and grow. And teachers need spaces, like meetings, not to dwell on deficits, but to refine their own “game.”
If we spend our time in meetings trying to fit square pegs into round holes, we miss the bigger picture. But if we invest that time in growing our own skills and supporting one another, we create a team where everyone has a shot at making it to the majors.
