I’m not big on using catchy slogans or heartfelt platitudes. People borrow them to artificially create feelings or character traits that should already be embedded in their personality. And, at best, such sayings are fleeting. As soon as a catchy phase falls out of vogue, the feeling often disappears along with it.

Remember such catchphrases as “Search for win-win situations” or “Be proactive” or “Let’s create synergies” or “Go big or go home?”

These are all good thoughts ... all good sentiments ... and all serve to motivate a group into a desired behavior with a much-desired result. Be good little team players. Finish that project. Meet that deadline.

My mom didn’t use catchphrases. I don’t think she needed them.

She trained her children and others using only sheer force of personality. She is not physically intimidating, standing a couple of inches under the 5-foot mark. She possesses neither quickness nor great strength. Yet, my mom has always been one of those people you just don’t want to disappoint. You live your life, to a certain extent, making choices based on whether or not you think she’ll approve.

I almost lost my mom a few months ago. She had open-heart surgery in January, and her heart stopped as they were removing her from the bypass machine. It was touch and go for a couple of days and months before she was completely out of the woods.

So, I thought a lot about her this past week as I bought my yearly Mother’s Day card. I’m grateful for every extra day she’s been given. And, although she and dad live 300 miles away, it’s comforting to know that her voice is only a phone call away.

The earliest memories I have of my mom are often the most amazing.

As a kid, I remember slipping on some ice on the back steps of our house, falling and cracking my head on the concrete. As I looked up, there was Mom holding open the back door, taking charge by telling me to come in the house, then driving me to the doctor’s office.

As the doctor crafted several stitches in my forehead, I kept my eyes on Mom, who with a silent nod of her head told me that I was being brave. Her calm manner convinced me that I was to live and would probably make a full recovery.

My mom ran our entire neighborhood from her dining room table with only a telephone and her supernatural maternal intuition. She could not only tell when I was misbehaving, she could sense when any nearby kids were up to mischief.

Her senses alerted, she would summon one of the neighbor urchins (usually one of my sisters), quickly interrogate them to assess the situation, then dispatch specific orders designed to prevent personal injury, property damage or catastrophe.

All this while solving her daily crossword puzzle or compiling her grocery lists.

As I was starting school, Mom would make me sit beside her at the table and work on my penmanship, which she considered a secondary art form. She had her work cut out for her. I assumed that since I was left-handed, I had a ready-made excuse not to have clear and legible handwriting. She tirelessly outlined letters and words with a light pencil and directed her lunkhead son to trace over them, even with his left hand. No doubt she recognized that the only way I would learn to write would be through repetition and tedious practice.

Despite her size, she was widely feared as a fifth-grade teacher.

During class, Mom would pace up and down the aisles, ever searching for misbehavior or inattention. At the first sign of either by any of the boys, she would twirl her diamond wedding ring — stone to the palm side — and just tap them squarely on top of the head.

It was pure genius. The diamond’s impact effectively rendered a large corn-fed farm boy senseless for a split second or two but fully attentive and engaged a minute later. It also left only a small mark or indentation.

Mother’s Day has passed. But as you begin your week this morning and go about the business of living your life, I hope you called, visited or sent a card to your mom, thanking her for the small acts of love she’s shown you over the years.

It’s not too much to ask that, for just one day, you remember her.

To me, this past Mother’s Day was a gift, one that I truly appreciate. And I hope my mom is around for many more.

Steve Booher can be reached at steveb@npgco.com.