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My father. . .
samuelk
The Unstoppable Mr. 'K'
in Zocalo v2.0
My dad was born in Montana on August 13, 1937. For some reason, I can't remember the town in which he was born. I want to say it was Billings, but I'm not sure. I'll have to look it up at some point.
He served in the Army in Alaska, then moved to Tryon, North Carolina where he married my mom. He set up his own TV and radio repair business in the early 60's. Kimpton's TV Service was a pretty busy venture, even in a small town like Tryon (population.... less than 2000 or so). Kimpton's TV Service still resides in the same location after all these years.
When I was a baby, my dad set up a crib in his shop -- in the 5-foot by 7-foot display window -- it was the only place in the shop he could put me that wasn't within baby-arm's reach of things a baby shouldn't be able to reach; things like vacuum tubes, hot soldering irons and tiny baby-mouth sized capacitors and reisistors. To my dad's surprise (he related this story to me only a few weeks ago; I'd never heard it before), I was able to take apart the baby-crib-gate-thing and free myself. I did that many times, no matter how securely he fastened it. I'd say that was the start of my engineering education.
My dad encouraged me to learn. He taught me to be curious. Thanks to my dad, I wondered why--and how--EVERYTHING worked. I learned how to fix my old Atari joysticks when they broke, cannibalizing one joystick for the good of another.
My dad would practice throwing and catching my pitches when I played little league. He taught me how to throw a curve ball. I wasn't a pitcher in little league (I played right field and 2nd base), but that didn't stop me from striking out one of the most powerful hitters in the league in a scrimmage game. Ok, so I struck him out on his [i]2nd[/i] time at bat; the first time he hit a home run, but that was only because I hadn't learned how to read the catcher's signs.
My dad knew more than anyone should know about Television and Radio. He could talk your ear off about digital satellite, analog satellite, cable TV, HDTV...more than you'd ever WANT to know. Eventually, you WILL tell him to shut up.
My dad could do anything. He rewired our house, replaced the transmission in his car many times, and built 3 wooden decks on our house. Electrician, repair-man, teacher, etc. etc. etc.
Everyone in town knew my dad. If they didn't know him from his business, they knew him as the guy who ran the scoreboard, installed the sound system and occasionally gave commentary for the local high school football and basketball games.
I love my dad.
As I write this, I'm sitting in a surreal fog in my Mom's living room. I'm trying to keep busy.
8 hours ago, my father was killed by a 20-year-old drunk driver as he was coming home from buying Christmas lights (they were only fifty cents; my dad could never resist a sale). Apparently, the driver crossed over the center-line and hit my dad's car head-on, at full speed. The doctors did all they could, but his injuries were too severe. My only hope is that he didn't suffer.
My sister called me from the hospital to tell me that dad had been in an accident. I left Raleigh, NC at around 9pm and drove 4 hours to be with my family. I called my mom about halfway there to get an update, but she didn't tell me anything. Something in the back of my mind told me that he was dead, but I decided not to jump to conclusions, no matter how obvious those conclusiosn ere. Mom didn't want to break the news to me while I was on the road. I can understand that.
I pains me that I'll never see my father again. I'll miss his wisdom, his humor, and his kindness. I hope he's proud of the person I've become.
I'll miss you, dad.
Allen Whitfield Kimpton
August 13, 1937 - January 11, 2004
He served in the Army in Alaska, then moved to Tryon, North Carolina where he married my mom. He set up his own TV and radio repair business in the early 60's. Kimpton's TV Service was a pretty busy venture, even in a small town like Tryon (population.... less than 2000 or so). Kimpton's TV Service still resides in the same location after all these years.
When I was a baby, my dad set up a crib in his shop -- in the 5-foot by 7-foot display window -- it was the only place in the shop he could put me that wasn't within baby-arm's reach of things a baby shouldn't be able to reach; things like vacuum tubes, hot soldering irons and tiny baby-mouth sized capacitors and reisistors. To my dad's surprise (he related this story to me only a few weeks ago; I'd never heard it before), I was able to take apart the baby-crib-gate-thing and free myself. I did that many times, no matter how securely he fastened it. I'd say that was the start of my engineering education.
My dad encouraged me to learn. He taught me to be curious. Thanks to my dad, I wondered why--and how--EVERYTHING worked. I learned how to fix my old Atari joysticks when they broke, cannibalizing one joystick for the good of another.
My dad would practice throwing and catching my pitches when I played little league. He taught me how to throw a curve ball. I wasn't a pitcher in little league (I played right field and 2nd base), but that didn't stop me from striking out one of the most powerful hitters in the league in a scrimmage game. Ok, so I struck him out on his [i]2nd[/i] time at bat; the first time he hit a home run, but that was only because I hadn't learned how to read the catcher's signs.
My dad knew more than anyone should know about Television and Radio. He could talk your ear off about digital satellite, analog satellite, cable TV, HDTV...more than you'd ever WANT to know. Eventually, you WILL tell him to shut up.
My dad could do anything. He rewired our house, replaced the transmission in his car many times, and built 3 wooden decks on our house. Electrician, repair-man, teacher, etc. etc. etc.
Everyone in town knew my dad. If they didn't know him from his business, they knew him as the guy who ran the scoreboard, installed the sound system and occasionally gave commentary for the local high school football and basketball games.
I love my dad.
As I write this, I'm sitting in a surreal fog in my Mom's living room. I'm trying to keep busy.
8 hours ago, my father was killed by a 20-year-old drunk driver as he was coming home from buying Christmas lights (they were only fifty cents; my dad could never resist a sale). Apparently, the driver crossed over the center-line and hit my dad's car head-on, at full speed. The doctors did all they could, but his injuries were too severe. My only hope is that he didn't suffer.
My sister called me from the hospital to tell me that dad had been in an accident. I left Raleigh, NC at around 9pm and drove 4 hours to be with my family. I called my mom about halfway there to get an update, but she didn't tell me anything. Something in the back of my mind told me that he was dead, but I decided not to jump to conclusions, no matter how obvious those conclusiosn ere. Mom didn't want to break the news to me while I was on the road. I can understand that.
I pains me that I'll never see my father again. I'll miss his wisdom, his humor, and his kindness. I hope he's proud of the person I've become.
I'll miss you, dad.
Allen Whitfield Kimpton
August 13, 1937 - January 11, 2004
Comments
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Don't anybody here [COLOR=red]ever[/COLOR] drink or do drugs and drive. :mad: It is, in my mind, no different than attempted murder.
"Thanks, and it's not your fault" are the words that come to mind. For a reason or another.
Let's leave that at that.
Nevertheless, my condolences for your loss, also.
Drunk drivers... you always hear of the things and deaths they cause and the families they break up but you never think it could happen to you...
I feel like stating something about DUI's here but nothing I say will stir up anything that isn't felt already, so I won't.
I couldn't even try to understand your loss. It makes me think of what I would go through if I were to loose my father, especially in that way. I admire and respect you for opening up and expressing your grief in a public place such as this, it shows you're a bigger man than I would be...
You have my deepest respect and your family has my sincerest condolences
Jake
You have my sincere condolences Sam... I just lost my Grandfather, and I have no idea what I would do if I lost my dad. :(
sorry:(
What happened to your father is tragic, but it's important to take comfort in knowing that he got a chance to live a great life, and he did a lot of good. Your post is a very thoughful story of your father's life, and while reading it, I couldn't help but think that perhaps this is your way of letting go. I have done something similar when my grandmothers passed away... I'm sure that your father was very proud of you. My sincere condolences to you and your family.
I just lost a dearly loved pet as you probably know, but I can't begin to feel what you have lost with your dad...
I remember when each of my grandparents passed away, so I have an idea...
Hang in there bud... ;)
It really seems that world isn't fair place.
[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by Konrad [/i]
[B]Don't anybody here [COLOR=red]ever[/COLOR] drink or do drugs and drive. :mad: It is, in my mind, no different than attempted murder. [/B][/QUOTE]
Why not deliberate murder attempt?
(because they can't have excuse for it or that they didn't know what doing that could cause)
Words, no mater how comforting, could express the depth of understanding and condolances I offer. I can't offer insight, or answers, but I can tell you this.
All fathers are proud of their sons. There is a special bond there like no other. The bond between father and son often is not there in words, but in a nod, a look, a reasurring pat on the back. It's what made your father build that crib in the shop when you were but a babe...and what told you what you dared not ask during that trip to the hospital.
I can only offer my deepest sympathies, and tell you that noone is ever truly gone, as long as we remember them.
If you ever need to talk...we'll be here.
With heartfelt condolances to you and your family,
-Rick
you have it.
~~~~
One bitter and angry coincidence or karmic malice makes this all the more worse... I dont know if you remember but Argone... got cleaned up by a DUI who crossed the centerline and hit him head on...
To my fellow Firstones... drop it back a few mph... go home that little bit earlier... clean your windshield...don't dial your cellphone on the road...
...cos right now... Fate is a fickle evil malicious fucking bitch...
and so is every, (insert extremely long profanity studded, violently expressive collection of adjectives), drunk/chemcially impaired driver out there...
~~~~
Sit on our shoulders brother, the mountain-weight of pain you bear is one we want to bear with you...
You will see someone walk along the street and something about them will make you think of him.
You will always miss him but the pain of the grief will diminish.
I promise.
My father died not long ago.
Strength to you and your family.
- PJH
Thank you for sharing something so important to you with us. I never met your father, but I feel like I know him now. What you've written is so vivid, not many here will forget. If people live in memories, I hope it's comforting to know we will all remember him well.
-Φ
And SB, your comments mean as much to me as everyone else's. We may disagree here on the forums, but I don't harbor any ill feelings towards you or anyone else here. We're all family, in some strange way. :)
[B]Good to hear from you Sam! I hope your doing ok! [/B][/QUOTE]
Thanks. Yeah, I'm doing fine. The funeral is tomorrow, and things will begin to return to semi-normal after that.
I'll be heading back to my place on Friday so I can get back to work and take care of some other stuff.
Today, my mom gave me some stuff that my Dad kept in his money box that he carried to work every day.
A 1976-series 2-dollar bill, a small level, and a brass and wood caliper that belonged to my great grandfather.
I stopped by my dad's shop today to pick up a few things, and I grabbed the calculator that he used every day. It's an old Panasonic calculator from the early 70's.