face in the dirt

I'm not proud of this memory, but it keeps floating up, so maybe I can excise it by publishing.

Diagonal behind our house in Springfield lived a family that we were friends with...including the boy who was my age.   We weren't best friends, but we did hang out after middle school.   One time we got into a playful scuffle that was quite normal for the times.   Just wrestling around.   I was winning and took my chance to humiliate in victory.  I rubbed his face in the dirt.   I have no idea why.   The memory really bothers me, since I don't see myself as a bully, macho, etc.   But at that moment, I guess the running hormones overwhelmed whatever kindness I had at that age.   I don't have many life regrets, but that is one of them.   Maybe carrying the memory is a good reminder.   Alan Yablonsky, I'm sorry.