We suburban empty-nesters have easily adapted to returning home from work having only to entertain select houseguests each evening: peace, predictability, routine and the sleep goblins. All is sweetly serene in our aging home; my wife and I can hear each other yawn from separate TV rooms.

But one Friday night, not long after a tri-racial, 12-person Los Angeles jury made it shockingly clear how many light-years apart are the races, 13 male youths -- three black, nine white, and one of Korean descent, all looking to be in their late teens or early 20s -- tumbled out of a parked van and took over our townhouse.

They began interrogating us about our son. They wanted some "dirt" on him, they said, so they could hold him up to ridicule. Baby pictures would be fine, too. They checked out our libation supply, pantry, refrigerator and scrapbooks while my wife fed them a morsel of scandal:

"Well, he could read before he was potty-trained!" she confided. The intruders seemed to enjoy this family secret. One of their group rejoined with, "And he hasn't changed a bit!" after which they all collapsed in laughter -- all except our son, who cringed while grinning. He was one of this multiracial group of invading collegians who call themselves the Hullabahoos, a word derived from combining the word meaning "uproar" with the word "wahoo," the essence of which is understood only in Charlottesville.

The boys were making their second of several parental pit stops en route to sing, make merry, and break speed limits and hearts at half a dozen or so northeast schools and traditional watering holes during a scheduled mid-semester pause at their home base, U.Va. They sing a cappella '90s pop-rock when they're not studying, which is to say they sing a lot. They also sing at convenient B’hoos' parents' homes along the road north. It's their memorable way of thanking us for our brief and modest hospitality.

Until 13 strong and disciplined male voices render their own drop-dead, six (?) -part, tight-harmony version of the Star Spangled Banner in your flag-size dining room, your house and finest crystal haven't withstood the ultimate test of workmanship. The guys patriotically cut loose, removing their hats -- and quickly any doubts about their musicianship. Surely, I thought, somewhere in the neighborhood a flag must have just unfurled itself and shinnied up a pole.

Their serious number aside (sung at selected school football and basketball games), they next offered us a Michael Jackson tune, "Man in the Mirror," while we watched them watch us watching them. Then, invoking the "one-soloist-has-to-be-the-guy-whose-house-we're-in" rule, the B’hoos offered up our son, our former buzz-cut gosling in horn-rim glasses and braces, who, four years ago, was so shy he wouldn't undress in a room containing a Princess Phone. Backed lovingly by his peers, he proceeded to bare his very soul by emoting to our amazement a current chart-climber called "Back For Good."

The now-handsome devil's mom and I sort of wished he were...

...But he and his B’hoos had to move on. They filed through our front hall and out the front door singing "The House of Stone and Light," an introspective piece totally beyond my wife's and my comprehension. All we knew for sure was that we had just briefly hosted 13 talented, bright, music- and fun-loving, caring guys of several colors, many faiths and varied backgrounds -- arms around shoulders, elbows nudging ribs, winks provoking smiles -- effusively singing each other's favorite songs. These were guys who truly enjoy each other's company and radiate sunshine wherever they sing.

Outside, under a setting sun, they each hugged us farewell then piled and squeezed into their rented van. They made a U-turn, beeped and roared off, their "fall roll" through the multi-hued northeast and a true test of friendship before them. "May they hit the books as well as they hit the notes," I prayed silently.

Slowly, Judy and I walked back into our empty, silent house. We told each other how much we'd needed that visit. For one shining hour, our house had resonated to music and laughter as in days gone by. More importantly, we had witnessed what the country could use a lot more of -- a little harmony between races.