He was the age of his son when I first met him, 3 but close to 4, standing there at the open door. It was actually a fairly tense moment. After all, I always found blind dates somewhat unsettling.

I had never even seen a picture of her. A pair of co-workers, one her sister, had encouraged me to ask her out. Finally, after several weeks, I did.

So here I was, at her back door, looking at this little blond kid looking up at me. That’s when I heard the dog raising all kinds of hell. A poodle, no doubt suffering from little-dog-itis, was yipping and snarling like I would soon be short one leg.

My date’s mother came in to see what the fuss was, calmed the dog and scooted the kid into the front room. She invited me in, I introduced myself and we headed to the front room for that moment that always gave me that greasy-gut feeling.

Time to meet: The Dad.

Fathers never took to me, and this guy was even tougher. They called him Frog, and when I heard his voice I understood it. Later I would love him, but that night my knees were somewhat jellied.

It didn’t take me long to realize what I was going to be up against with Papa. While I thought I was picking up a divorced mother, he thought I was picking up his youngest baby. And I was nine years older than her, older than the guys who had married his two older daughters.

Every time he spoke, it seemed like snarling to me. Greatgooblygobsagravy! I was 30, single, a dad, employed and somewhat of a good citizen to the world. He was treating me like the crazed rapist of Boyd County.

And, to top off the scene, my date was somewhat late in getting ready. So there we were ... Papa Bear, Mama Bear, Baby Bear, Poodle Bear and ... me, squirming on the couch.

Then, quite suddenly, there she was ... floating down the stairs. I know her legs must have been moving, but I didn’t see them. I was struck with the good luck I just received. My only thought: Why would this baby doll even go out on a blind date?

Oct. 18 marks 35 years since that night happened. We’ve pretty much spent every day together since.

And that little boy, Matt Dixon, became my second son. His dad and I have shared him these 35 years and we’re both quite proud of him.

When Matt’s friends first started coming to the house, if they called me anything at all it was Mr. Dixon. I answered to it. It was just easier that way.

He has brought a son into the world who is now the age Matt was the night of the blind date ... and he looks just like Matt. We call him Walree because that’s the way, as a baby, he pronounced walrus.

There’s now another grandson, but I don’t know him very well. He just eats and sleeps and makes goofy noises. We’ll get better acquainted later. He doesn’t look that much like Matt yet, but he might.

When I celebrate any anniversary that concerns Wife, I’m also celebrating becoming a father for the second time.

Matt’s a good son, a good husband, a good father and a good worker. He deserves the good things life has to offer.

The anniversary of that day is nigh. I feel like a big winner. I only hope Matt and his mother don’t think they got the booby prize.

MIKE RELIFORD can be reached at mreliford@dailyindependent.com or (606) 326-2647.