Stadalsky: Cherish the Kool-Aid house

A good friend of mine called my home the Kool-Aid house when my boys were growing up. It’s a home where friends routinely gather, presumably for a cold glass of Kool-Aid and a chocolate chip cookie hot out of the oven.

At my house it was more likely to be a bowl of cereal with milk, or peanut butter crackers and a Mountain Dew. There may have been a few batches of homemade cookies.

I guess I grew up in a Kool-Aid house, too. With five children and a big dog, there always seemed to be at least one extra kid at the dinner table and several out in the garage.

I have worked from home since my two sons were young. That likely was one reason their many friends – most from Channahon, Minooka and Shorewood – came over. The other was I wanted them here.

I don’t think I can count the number of teens, mostly boys, who went through my house. I’d take a break from my home office to check on the laughter and noises coming from the kitchen. I usually didn’t want to know what the conversation was – boys can be gross. Other times they’d share something and get me laughing, too.

Our basement became a regular hangout for them. It could have been the big screen TV we put in for family and adult use that barely got used by us, or the toy room that became a music room.

My boys played the drums, guitar and keyboard. A few pieces of equipment turned into a recording studio with giant speakers, more drums and guitars, a wall of keyboards, computers and sound equipment.

Our nightly dinners were serenaded by the beat of the drums and a sound that was called “screamo” at the time. I’m glad that genre is no longer played in my house.

Quiet time on weeknights was supposed to be 9 p.m., but we had our share of tense moments when the music or laughter went beyond and kids were booted outside and descended on the neighborhood.

My neighbors likely didn’t appreciate the night sounds of skateboards clattering on the concrete in the cul-de-sac in front of our house, others riding bikes and being loud as boys can be (sorry, neighbors).

I have memories of things they did that got us mad at the time and make us laugh now. Like when they sprayed Pledge on the wood floor in the foyer to use as a Slip’N Slide. There were Silly String wars in the basement that left green globs I picked off the ceiling years later. And once a neighbor called to ask if it was OK that kids were sitting on the roof. It was not.

I know there were other much more mischievous acts that happened under my watch. Some I’ve learned about; others I prefer not to know. Most I can laugh about now.

Joe Pasdertz Jr., one of these wonderful young men who once hung out at the Kool-Aid house, died Jan. 30. He was just 24. Joe lived in Verona and was great friends with all the boys, so he spent many weekends at our home. He sat at our dinner table, played music in the basement and got into mischief with the rest of them.

What I remember most about the kids, including Joe, was the laughter, the hugs I’d get and the satisfaction of knowing our home was a good place to be. The annoyances, the loud music, the problems – none of those take up space in my heart.

So this is for Joe. And for all the friends he left behind: Be safe, be happy. And when your own children come home with friends for Kool-Aid, open your door and your heart.

• Kris Stadalsky writes about people and issues in areas southwest of Joliet. Reach her at writestuff56@comcast.net.