I'm in between roles right now. I left my job at Sunny in August, and since then I've been doing more than networking. I'm following my energy. When am I filled up? When am I joyful, using my strengths, in my zone? That's where I want to be.
So when I saw DISD asking for Principal for a Day volunteers, I didn't hesitate. When you're working full time, a whole day outside your job is a hard yes to give. This year, I could give it. I had to give it. I said YES!
On October 27, I joined Dallas ISD's 26th annual Principal for a Day, hosted by Dallas ISD and the Dallas Regional Chamber. I'm a DISD mom. My kids went to Rosemont and now go to Sudie L. Williams. I volunteer with United to Learn at Paul L. Dunbar, near Fair Park. I love those schools.
So on my application, I asked for something different. A school unlike the ones I know. A new lens.
I got Lee McShan Jr. Elementary in North Dallas. And I walked in to be a sponge. A student of the principal.
My partner for the day was McShan's student council president. Principal Madlock called her "Madam President" and asked for her input all day long, and meant it. She wants to be a neurosurgeon.
My cup ran over
I arrived right at 8, just in time for morning announcements. Four kids stood at the mic with a staff member, beaming with pride. I snapped a photo from behind and grinned the whole time.
I love school hallways. Every school has a personality, and the hallways are where you feel it. At McShan, decals ran along one hallway floor: hopscotch, crab crawl, little paths for kids to hop and wiggle their way to class. Sweet, joyful, childlike. Which is exactly what a school should be.
Before my visit, I asked United to Learn about McShan, since they serve that school. They told me to look for the mural. On a community campus day, volunteers painted it, with the school's values right there on the wall.
McShan students come from 16 countries and speak nearly 30 languages. I saw hundreds of kids that day, including so many little girls in beautiful hijabs. And there on the mural were two little girls, one in a hijab. Kids seeing themselves on the walls of their own school, like they belong. Because they do.
Systems, data, and consistency
About three years ago, McShan was rated F. Then C. Then B.
So I asked Principal Madlock: what's your secret? Her answer: "Systems, data, and consistency." I got to watch all three in action.
A quick, honest disclaimer: I've never been a teacher. I don't claim to know how every school works, and every campus is different. This is simply what I saw at this one, and why it moved me.
The rolling desk
Tuesdays at McShan are for PLCs, or professional learning communities. Principal Madlock had a presentation ready for every meeting and knew the schedule cold. Then she literally wheeled her desk down the hall, from classroom to classroom, meeting to meeting.
Between meetings, she doesn't retreat to an office. She parks in the hallway, usually at a corner where she can see in every direction. Teachers see her. Students see her. She smiles, she notices, she's part of the pulse.
The best CEOs I've known do the same thing. They walk the halls (and/or make their rounds virtually), make eye contact, and feel the pulse of the company. Presence isn't a personality trait. It's a leadership system.
"More paper!"
We started with 4th grade math and science: two teachers, the principal, and me. Every meeting followed the same rhythm:
One win from the week
One challenge
Last week's data on the screen: which problems kids missed, and maybe why
Actual student work, on paper: what are they writing, and where are they stumbling?
Course corrections for the week ahead, typed up right there in the room
Then rinse and repeat, grade by grade, subject by subject.
In 5th grade math, things were going so well there wasn't much to fix. So Principal Madlock asked, "Is there anything you need from me?"
One teacher laughed. "More paper!"
To be clear, they have paper. ("Absolutely," said the principal. "We've got tons.") They're just going through so much of it.
I couldn't help myself. I chimed in.
A parent's exhale
Here's my confession. I'm a parent who worries about screens. About AI. About Chromebooks in tiny hands. And yes, I say that as the marketer who led digital transformation for Lexus. And as someone who recently built a personal Chief of Staff with Claude while unemployed (ask me about that, or wait for the starter kit coming soon!) I love technology. I've built a career on it.
AND I want my kids to know how to think with a pencil in their hand.
At McShan, I saw paper everywhere. Teachers and the principal poring over real student work. Kids showing their work by hand, right alongside their Chromebooks. Strong handwriting.
It's not paper or tech. It's paper AND tech. And I'll cast my vote for more paper, more books in kids' hands, and more showing your work. That's where critical thinking lives.
"Threw out" means add
McShan's languages show up in the data in fascinating ways. Teachers noticed kids missing certain word problems. The math wasn't the issue. The phrasing was. To a student learning English, "threw out" can sound a lot like adding something.
Idioms are sneaky.
So teachers teach vocabulary right alongside math and science. A boat sits next to a motor. A bell sits next to a buzzer. Words and concepts, side by side.
Nearly 30 languages in one building isn't a problem to manage. It's a superpower. It just takes teachers who look closely enough to see it.
Geo and the rocks
Science is McShan's toughest nut to crack right now. It's where kids are struggling most and scores have been slowest to climb. From what I understand, that's true at plenty of campuses across the district.
Sitting in those meetings, my first thought wasn't about me. It was about DALLAS. We're home to universities and enormous companies built on math, science, and engineering.
Do they know this need in our public schools?
If they knew what these classrooms needed, could they supply materials?
Own a career day?
Help kids see themselves as the scientists and engineers they could become?
And then, of course, I thought of my dad.
My dad, Owen Hopkins (Geo to his grandkids), was a petroleum geologist who carried rocks in his pocket to plant the seed of curiosity in anyone nearby. When he retired early, he went all-in on a program he founded and championed through the Corpus Christi Geological Society: Maps, Bones, and Boulders in Schools.
Maps: He personally presented and installed geologic maps of time into hundreds of schools. Picture a black map lit up with bright bands of color, the earth's story laid out on a wall.
Bones: When crews excavated bones from a quarry near Corpus Christi, my dad simply asked, "What are you doing with those? Can I have them?" They were donated. Local university students carefully cleaned them, and he gave them back to public schools.
Boulders: He got a metamorphic, a sedimentary, and an igneous boulder into dozens of schools. Not rocks. Boulders. Big enough for kids to climb, touch, and feel. Science, right in front of them.
Corpus Christi even named a day after him: Owen Hopkins Rocks Day.
If he were still here, I would have called him the minute I left McShan.
"Dad, when can you come to Dallas?"
He'd have done McShan, Rosemont, Sudie, and Dunbar in a single week. Because his daughter called. Because kids need someone to plant the seed of curiosity.
He's been gone fifteen years. (And, yes, my stories so often go back to him.)
But here's what lit me up: there are so many people like my dad in this city. They just might not know they're needed. Maybe that rocks talk is mine to give now. Maybe yours is, too.
Proud to be public
I now have a window into four Dallas ISD elementary schools, and no two need the same thing. My sunshine cart for teachers is a hit at one; it wouldn’t fit another. That’s exactly why I keep showing up with United to Learn, whose volunteer liaisons and corporate partners wrap around each campus and support what that school actually needs.
McShan went from an F to a B in about three years. In 2026, more than 70% of Dallas ISD campuses earned an A or B. Ratings stick; turnarounds travel slower.
At the closing reception at the Perot Museum, Superintendent Dr. Stephanie Elizalde said the brilliance we saw that day is happening on every campus. I believe her. I saw it.
So when a young family asks where their kids will go to school, I want the answer to be: DISD, of course. And bigger than that: public, of course.
Public schools are the backbone of our community, and keeping them thriving belongs to all of us. Your time, your dollars, your materials, your attention, your vote. We can all give in our own way.
I’m a direct marketer at heart, so here’s my ask. If this sparked something:
Text or DM me. Questions welcome.
Come with me to a school. See it for yourself.
Bring it to your company. I’d love to talk with your leadership team about a school partnership.
Ask me anything. Parent, volunteer, principal for a day: I’ll tell you what I’ve seen.
To Principal Madlock, her teachers, and Madam President: thank you. My cup ran over.
Proud to be public. More than ever.
