Inside the house, the Murashiges — Ken and Linda, and their children, Kekoa and Lani — eat dinner in silence. The evening news is on television in the family room. The closed captioning provides a choppy scrawl of the day's events.

The evening before, the television was turned to "Monday Night Football," a favorite of 17-year-old Kekoa, the football player-turned-basketball guard whose physical play translates to the hardwood.

His sister, 15-year-old Lani, plays with the same intensity, and swears that she can beat her brother when they play basketball in the driveway.

Their parents look on, proud to pass along the competitive fire they learned as high school and college athletes.

All four Murashiges are jocks.
All four are deaf.

Up to the challenge

Kekoa and Lani Murashige are the best players on their teams at Arizona School for the Deaf and the Blind, which is playing a full varsity schedule this season.

In a boys and girls doubleheader against St. Augustine High School last week, Lani, a sophomore, spent most of the second half thundering down the right side of the lane from her point guard position. With each layup, the crowd at ASDB showed its approval, rumbling the bleachers with their hands and feet.

"She doesn't stop improving," coach Laura Edwards said.

Kekoa, a senior, took ill-advised shots in the first half of the afternoon game, drawing the ire of coach Mike Reyna at halftime.
Using furrowed facial expressions and tensed wrists, Reyna lectured Kekoa in American Sign Language (ASL).

"We had to explain to him how he's a leader on the team and has to show control of the game," Reyna said.

He was benched to start the second half. Message understood.

Both players learned competition from their parents. Ken and Linda enrolled their children in youth soccer, basketball and Little League Baseball and softball before they were old enough to play for ASDB's middle school teams.

"We like to challenge them," Linda said through a ASL translator. "I'd go (to games) for my daughter and he'd go for my son. It was a hearing environment, so it was a challenge for us, too.

"They learned about playing as a team, and the techniques of the sport," she said. "Communication was definitely tough, and it was an ongoing issue. But I'm glad they went through it."

At ASDB, players call for screens by making the letter "S" with their nondribbling hand. On defense, they have to look for screens; their teammates cannot call them out from behind.

Sometimes, on opponents' floors, Kekoa and Lani can feel the vibration of the ball as it bounces. Neither can hear the whistle, so they look for signals from the referee.

Other than that, the game's the same.

"It's not like, because we're deaf, that prevents us in any of our skill — we're playing basketball," Kekoa said. "There's nothing inhibiting us."

Sports in their blood

Ken starred on the football team as the only deaf student at Hollywood High School. Linda played volleyball and basketball at California School for the Deaf in Riverside. She then attended Gallaudet University in Washington D.C., the world's only college specifically for the deaf, where she played volleyball and tennis.

The two met at a gymnasium for the hearing impaired in the Los Angeles area, then trained together for the Deaf Olympics. They played volleyball in the 1973, '77 and '81 games.

"There's so much teamwork and competition," Ken said. "It's just the experience itself that you learn from. It was so, so good for us. It was an amazing lesson for us."

They trained under Frank Rubio, the late father of University of Arizona volleyball coach Dave Rubio.

"A lot of the techniques I learned, used and kept, and taught to our children," Linda said.

When Linda found out she was pregnant, she was told there was a 50-50 chance her children would be deaf, too.

Linda has a hearing brother. Ken comes from a deaf family.
"It doesn't matter," she said. "It's easier to communicate."

Linda teaches at ASDB. She and Ken, who works for Raytheon Missile Systems, coach the volleyball team. Ken also keeps statistics for the boys basketball team.

"It's just part of our nature, part of who we are," Ken said.

Keeping contact

Eight medals from basketball, soccer and softball hang next to a homecoming princess sash on a post near Lani's bed. Across the room, the screensaver on her computer reads, "Baller till I fall."

In the adjoining room, Linda is on the videophone, signing messages back and forth as a lamp without a shade illuminates her hands.

Across the hall, Kekoa is typing back and forth with his girlfriend — who also is deaf — on his T-Mobile Sidekick, a hand-held text-messaging and e-mail device. His girlfriend is a freshman at Gallaudet, the school Kekoa plans to attend next year.

When the home phone rings — the Murashiges have it in case they ever have to call 911 — Linda wrinkles her nose.

"Telemarketers," she mouths.

It's easier for the Murashige children to communicate because of new technology, the broken doorbell not withstanding.

Linda now does not have to worry about her son being left stranded by his 1987 Chrysler LeBaron, and knows when to go pick up her daughter from the mall.

The Murashige children, however, are most comfortable on an even playing field — or court.

"Being an athlete, that's what I like to do," Lani said. "Just play."

By Patrick Finley
http://www.azstarnet.com/sports/108290.php