Players draw inspiration from 'Honorary Warrior'

By Stephen Tsai
Advertiser Staff Writer

Some mornings, the Manoa mist gathers on the helmets of the University of Hawai'i football players, much like water beads forming on a glass of iced tea.

Brian Kajiyama began watching UH football practices in 1999 and has become a regular ever since. "He's a great friend who listens to us," said UH punter Greg Kleidon. Eugene Tanner • The Honolulu Advertiser

But every morning, in all of nature's conditions, Brian Kajiyama is there, in his motorized wheelchair, watching the Warriors practice.

It is not easy for Kajiyama, who lives in a body he cannot control. The involuntary twitches leave him exhausted. The most severe form of the neurological disorder cerebral palsy reduced his legs to marshmallow sticks. He has limited movement on his left side.

His voice is barely a hush, only decipherable to family members.

He is, to the untrained eye, a man who not only needs our help but, even sadder, our sympathy.

But come closer — don't worry, he's not contagious — and that is when images and preconceptions melt, and your initial impression leaves you ashamed.

From the mirror's perspective, when it is our turn to watch him, we learn that Kajiyama sits in a wheelchair but is not confined by one.

He is an active table-tennis player. He does not play a modified form of the game. Holding his paddle with a butcher's grip, he fires shots that scream past opponents. Then, opponents rifle shots back at him.

He also bowls, using a metal ramp as a launcher. He recently scored 170, easily beating his friend Greg Kleidon, UH's punter.

"I even tried to play with his head," Kleidon said. That, of course, was a mistake.

"He's very bright," said James Little, one of Kajiyama's professors, "and very independent."

In class at UH, Kajiyama punches notes into a laptop computer with a keyboard crafted for his curled fingers. Sometimes, he will hire a notetaker, but rarely to take notes. The aide is used in classes in which Kajiyama needs to search through books quickly.

Kajiyama, a liberal arts major, expects to earn a bachelor's degree in December 2002. He has a cumulative grade-point average of 3.55, earning membership in the Golden Key National Honor Society and UH's Mortar Board for outstanding seniors. The Mortar Board requires members to complete 10 service projects a year. In three months, Kajiyama has finished eight projects.

Most of all, Kajiyama is a football fan. His mother, Grace, drops him off at UH every morning. Then Kajiyama, with his right hand on a touch-control steering stick, will navigate his wheelchair through the lower campus, over cracked asphalt and bumpy dirt.

He prefers to park alongside a make-shift fence, about 10 feet from the makai sideline, not to escape the reserve quarterbacks' errant throws but to avoid becoming a safety hazard to the players.

Kajiyama attended his first practice in 1999, June Jones' first year as UH coach, as a way to kill time before class.

Several players waved greetings each morning. But one day, defensive back Dee Miller approached Kajiyama and introduced himself. Unlike others, Miller waited as Kajiyama slowly offered a written response.

They communicated every day — about school, movies, life.

"For Dee, I think it was nice to know someone who didn't care that he played football," Kajiyama said. "We talked about life in general."

Jones invited Kajiyama to move closer during practices. The players began to embrace Kajiyama as one of their own.

"I find that those who have a chance to know me, other than just the kid who watches practice, are likely to treat me as one of the guys," Kajiyama said.

The players refer to Kajiyama as an "honorary Warrior," and they mean it. It's not because Kajiyama has a disability, but because "he's a great friend who listens to us," Kleidon said. "Brian brings a lot to the team."

The night the Warriors beat Fresno State to clinch a share of the 1999 Western Athletic Conference title, Miller pointed to his wristbands, to the letters, "B.K."

After Miller completed his eligibility in December, he returned to Mississippi to take care of his ailing mother. But they still communicate regularly through a telephone program in which Kajiyama sends his typed messages to an intermediary, who reads them to Miller.

"He's real cool," Miller said. "It takes a little longer to communicate with him, but what he has to say is really interesting. He's a great friend."

Jones said Kajiyama "is a part of us. He's with us every day."

While some players refer to Kajiyama as an "inspiration," he downplays such comments as being "too kind." Instead, he said, "I think the team inspires me."

"Last season is a key example," he said. "Even though they ended up with just three wins, every week they would go about their business as if they were going for a championship. None of them quit or lost faith, and that showed me, sure, life won't always go the way you hope or think it would go or should go. But you can't ever quit."

Sometimes, while watching football practice, "my mind wanders and I think, 'Gee, what if ...'' he said. "But then I come back to reality. I believe everything happens for a reason. I still haven't found the great answer, but perhaps I have cerebral palsy to demonstrate to others that just because somebody is disabled, it doesn't mean they can't achieve success in life or enjoy as much as any other 'normal' person, whatever 'normal' means."