Wrestley

Young son has an alter ego named "Wrestley", a coy, quiet little boy who likes to stand in the shadows of trees, or to roll silently up to you on his bicycle, or to sit by the side of the pool, where he waits patiently for someone to notice him. This is where I come in. I have strict instructions to notice him, and to recoil in surprise, and to go through through this dialog (or a close variant) with him:

"Little boy, what is your name?"
"Wrestley."
"Wrestley, do you know how to swim/ride a bike/play baseball?"
"Yes."
"Wrestley I have been looking all my life for a little boy to swim/ride bikes/play baseball with me! Would you like to play with me?"
"Yes."
"And will you come home with me, Wrestley, and live with me forever?"
"Yes."

When this dialog is over we rarely proceed to the aforementioned activity. We might get started with something, but before we can get very far, the son can't resist a reprisal of our little drama and so we re-enact the moment of Wrestley's discovery in an ever-expanding collection of scenarios.