“TATTOOED”

I was a redheaded, freckled, little girl of five living with my small, missionary family in Rahama, Nigeria.  I had no playmates and only a few old books to read. Polly, our African Grey parrot learned to call my name and sometimes I would get confused and think my mother was calling so I would run to see what she wanted. During the day Polly spent her time in a small tree outside our front door.  Every noontime, when mother rang the bell for lunch, Polly would climb down the tree, walk to the front door and knock loudly with her beak so we would let her come inside. She took her place at the table by climbing her perch and would carry on with flair and drama as she ate lunch with us. My brother Paul, who was almost ten years older, was at boarding school but he would come home for break...