Dear Kid,

If you were to take apart your ankle (which I don’t recommend) you would discover that it is make of three bones: Wynken, Blynken, and Nod.

The reason you shouldn’t take your ankle apart (aside from it being harder to walk when your ankle is in pieces) is that we cut your tags off years ago and if you take it apart yourself (rather than calling a qualified professional) you void the warrantee. Also, there are lots of ligaments and tendons and cartilage in there. Generally, when you take your own ankle apart and try to put it back together you end up with extra pieces. This is generally considered a Mistake.

Some people don’t take this advice seriously and end up on crutches.

Ankles are useful for many things. They are an excellent place for ankle bracelets. They usually stay awake when your foot falls asleep. And they are critical for wearing shoes with ankle straps.

There are more than 250,000 sweat glands in your two feet which can excrete over half a pint of moisture daily. Ankles put up with a lot.

The average woman walks three miles more per day than the average man. Except when she breaks her ankle.

In 1324, England’s King Edward II (who apparently had a foot fetish [I love starting rumors]) decided that the diameter of one barley corn (roughly a third of an inch) would represent a full shoe size. Amazingly, that’s still how European shoe sizes are measured. I have no idea why royalty would bother getting involved in such things.

It is harder to wear shoes (of any size) when you have a broken ankle.

To anyone with a broken ankle: heal quickly.

Ton anyone without a broken ankle: let’s keep it that way.

Love, Mom

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod by American writer and poet Eugene Field was published on March 9, 1889.

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night
Sailed off in a wooden shoe —
Sailed on a river of crystal light,
Into a sea of dew.
“Where are you going, and what do you wish?”
The old moon asked the three.
“We have come to fish for the herring fish
That live in this beautiful sea;
Nets of silver and gold have we!”
Said Wynken, Blynken, and Nod.

The old moon laughed and sang a song,
As they rocked in the wooden shoe,
And the wind that sped them all night long
Ruffled the waves of dew.
The little stars were the herring fish
That lived in that beautiful sea —
“Now cast your nets wherever you wish —
Never afeard are we”;
So cried the stars to the fishermen three:
Wynken, Blynken, and Nod.

All night long their nets they threw
To the stars in the twinkling foam —
Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe,
Bringing the fishermen home;
‘Twas all so pretty a sail it seemed
As if it could not be,
And some folks thought ’twas a dream they’d dreamed
Of sailing that beautiful sea —
But I shall name you the fishermen three:
Wynken, Blynken, and Nod.

Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes,
And Nod is a little head,
And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies
Is a wee one’s trundle-bed.
So shut your eyes while mother sings
Of wonderful sights that be,
And you shall see the beautiful things
As you rock in the misty sea,
Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three:
Wynken, Blynken, and Nod.