At the top of the stairs

I dreamed we were visiting my pal, the Northman, somewhere on Staten Island. We were in a hospital-green stairwell that twisted back and forth in on itself, and I was standing at the top landing. My son and his troop of friends, some of them the lads on the soccer team, were pulling a wagon loaded with other kids up the stairs. My son was singularly focused on the goal of lifting the wagon, and he was using all his strength to move it, but then when they would arrive at the top, some of his mates would deliberately perform a double-leg takedown on him, and the wagon and other kids would tumble back. Instead of defending himself, my son would get up and cross his arms, his face snarled with sadness and rage at these other kids who were not following the rules--he seemed to be especially upset that the kids in the wagon were having their fun disrupted.

In the dream, I got very mad with my son, and told him so. I told him to defend himself, and that the others would lay off him if he did so. But he simply continued to pout. Frustrated, I turned and left the stairwell.