YOUR SPACE: A special relationship for couple in Springs

Kelly Goon and Laura Murdent have worn wedding rings for a matter of weeks, and already he's trying to change her.

He's teaching her to read and write.

"She has mild retardation and cerebral palsy," he says. "I have cerebral palsy, brain damage and a seizure disorder."

A social service agency hosted a union ceremony for the pair on New Year's Eve, with gifts, rings and a hotel night.

Goon, 46, and Murdent, 34, who've been engaged for two years, hope to soon get a marriage license. "It will screw up our disability checks up a bit," he says.

"I don't care because we love each other," she says. "I want to be Laura Goon."

"It's not all about money," he says. He talks about getting a job. She talks about wanting to have children.

She calls him "Sweetie." He calls her "Baby."

"We don't say them in public," she says.

It might draw more attention. People stare enough.

He's is a big guy, with bright orange hair and a raspy voice. She's a petite brunette who stumbles from foot problems. Their therapeutic shoes are the same color and style, only his are twice her size.

She walks slowly. He walks fast. "He's more on the go, all the time," she says.

They met at church. "I liked his smile," she says.

"She really made me feel comfortable," he says.

He uses workbooks from Wal-Mart for lessons. A bedroom in their apartment is the schoolroom. He gives her homework and tests.

"I can do basic multiplication, like 2 plus 2 is 4," she says. "I know how to read words like ‘cat,' ‘dog' and ‘can.

For geography lessons, Murdent, a Colorado native, writes names of faraway places she'll never go.

"My hands are getting tired," she says. "I want a typewriter."

He doesn't let her slide. "I want her to succeed in life," he says. "People look down at special-needs people that they're either stupid or can't do things a regular person can do. That isn't true."

They do it with help.

The agency manages their bills and meds, takes them shopping and to doctors.

They also ride the bus and do things as a couple. They make beaded necklaces to sell.

They try new recipes, like eggplant casserole.

They try to fit in.

"When I was in high school, everyone would laugh at me," she says.

"People used to call me ‘retardo,'" he says. "I knew they were being self-centered and condescending. It hurt me emotionally."

It still hurts.

"We try not to let people get to us. A lot is learning to accept people's ignorance, them laughing at us or telling us we can't do things," he says. "I don't look at what a person can do as far as a physical ability. I see what they can do as far as the inside of their heart."