My husband and son are binge-watching the late-aughts television show Community. 

It’s a nice little bit of bonding between the two of them, critical now that my son leaves for college in four months. 

But, um, I want to watch Community. 

And I do. Sometimes. When it’s evening and the fellas have gathered around the tube, I plop down with my cookies and guffaw at the antics of the Greendale crew. 

But if I’m watching The Rosenbach’s Biblioventure series on The Hobbit or desperately trying to finish John and Carolyn, well.  

The boys just watch without me. 

It’s my fault, really. They started out bingeing Breaking Bad.  

I already binged Breaking Bad.  

So, I told my guys they were free to watch Bryan Cranston at his worst/best, regardless of my ability to participate. 

My intermittent viewing got me into the plot all over again because, hello, it’s Breaking Bad. I had different takes on characters’ actions. I enjoyed watching my guys as each storyline rolled out. I couldn’t wait to get to the —

Wait. Do I spoil it? 

On the one hand, it’s been thirteen years since Breaking Bad ended. My oldest has had her entire primary school career in that time. If you were going to watch it, shouldn’t you have gotten around to it?

On the other hand, maybe you’ve been in a coma, like Christopher Walken in The Dead Zone. Which isn’t your fault. You shouldn’t be punished for being in a coma.

But if you were in a coma like Christopher Walken in The Dead Zone, you’re psychic now. So, you already know what happens.  

Huh. That’s a conundrum. 

Well, I won’t spoil it. 

But when the Breaking Bad plot gets to that big thing that permeates the rest of the series? That thing that spawned legions of online debates as to how many deaths Walter White is responsible for? Yeah. I couldn’t wait to see my guys react. 

I’m still waiting. 

Because they watched it without me. They sat down and had their little snacks and watched that critical moment in Breaking Bad without me. 

“What?!” I said. “You watched it without me?!” 

“You said we could!” my husband exclaimed. “You’ve seen it!” 

But that, as Indy might say, is entirely beside the point. 

Except it’s really not. It is the point. I told them to watch without me.  

And they, um, did. They watched Breaking Bad without me. 

When the Community binge began, there was no discussion of watching without me. This was their thing. I could join, but I couldn’t dictate. 

And at first, I didn’t care. Community, to me, felt like a poor man’s Parks and Rec, which itself felt like a poor man’s The Office.  

But I was wrong about Parks and Rec. 

And I was wrong about Community. 

I mean, I’ve only seen perhaps every third episode. But those third episodes are great. 

And I managed to catch “Remedial Chaos Theory,” widely regarded as the best episode.  

And LeVar Burton from Star Trek: The Next Generation makes a few cameos. 

Now, I can’t very well demand the guys only watch Community when I’m available. It’s their thing. Their time to bond. 

Me? I’ve had so many opportunities to connect with my kids. From our long drives to musicals to holiday adventures, they are bonded to me like hydrogen atoms bond to oxygen. I’ve had the career flexibility my husband didn’t. Worse, I had that flexibility on his back. 

So when he bonds with the kids, I stay out of it. 

Which is usually easy. They bond over worms hooked to fishing line, pre-dawn hikes in the woods, hours of silence in tree stands.  

Like, no. Everything else aside, I can’t be silent for hours regardless of a tree stand’s presence in the equation. I’m not even quiet for that long when I sleep. 

I will also have many complaints if I’m in a tree stand. Especially if it’s before dawn. So no. There will be no silence. 

You see? Giving my husband space to connect with our kids is easy … because it’s nothing I want to do. 

But I want to watch Community. “Troy and Abed in the Morning” is comedy gold, and Joel McHale’s rippling biceps are incredibly artistic. 

And attractive, if you’re shallow. 

Which I’m not. 

OK, OK. You post-coma psychics know I’m lying. 

Joel McHale’s rippling biceps look great in, well, everything. 

Why don’t I just binge it myself, you ask? Well, two reasons, really. One, my binge dance card is incredibly full. Outlander, Daredevil, the Punisher reboot-movie thing, The Boys, plus I still have to finish John and Carolyn, Netflix just dropped a new season of Homicide, Hulu is about to release season two of Tucci in Italy, and I’m seriously considering getting HBO for Welcome to Derry and another show I can’t remember but I’m sure is terribly important.

Also, I’m kind of lazy. I’m not going to rewatch Community unless someone — my son and husband, perhaps — are already watching it. 

So why don’t I just capitulate? Tell the guys I’m loving Community? Ask them to wait for me? 

Well, because my asking the guys to let me in on their little Community love fest smacks of overparenting, of my supposed reluctance to let go, of my impeding the male bonding in an attempt to remain — become? — the favored parent. 

No. I’m not overthinking this. 

Oh be quiet, Dead Zone psychics. Nobody asked you. 

So I’m just letting go. Letting the guys build their community with Community. Missing out on mornings with Troy and Abed, muscles with Joel McHale, memories with my kid. 

And letting every third episode suffice.