#71 | On Norm or Nostalgia for Ordinary

From a former 7 year old who cited Cheers as her favorite show.

Cheers debuts on September 30, 1982 in the half hour after The Cosby Show. I am born on March 15, 1986, the moon is in a waxing crescent and “Sara” by Jefferson Starship is top of the charts. And yet, somehow by the time the cast says their boozy goodbyes on The Tonight Show in May of 1993, I am its number one fan.

(Obviously my mother saved this copy of LIFE magazine that I annotated at 7 years old)

I am a precocious child, to say the very least, so it’s not surprising that my favorite show wasn’t Boy Meets World or Clarissa or any of the things my peers found entertaining. It was Cheers. I knew every single word to the theme song. Not just the chorus they used over the opening credits. Every single word to the three verses. Just a little six year old empathizing about “Mr. Coffee being dead,” or “Your shrink running off to Europe AND NOT EVEN WRITING,” or “Your THIRD FIANCEE didn’t even show”

I loved Cheers. They drank. They flirted. They complained about their jobs and made fun of each other’s hairlines. No one learned a lesson. No one had a makeover or a Very Special Episode. Week after week, I sat cross-legged on the carpet with my back against the sofa actively absorbing this cadence of adult life like it was a second language I was dying to become fluent in.

I’ve always wanted to be a grown up. Maybe it’s the oldest daughter in me, maybe it’s the need to protect those around me. Cheers was a masterclass (for a 6 year old) in what being a normal grownup was.

It wasn’t about the plot (which I didn’t fully understand), it was about the feeling it gave me: comfort. Grown-ups, talking. Showing up for each other. Sitting at the same bar, on the same stool, having the same drink, telling the same story. A world where things changed just enough to keep it interesting, but not so much that you ever felt lost.

There’s no way that Norm was my favorite when I was a kid. It was probably Carla, though it could have been Frasier, I’ll have to consult my parents. But when I think about Cheers today, Norm is my favorite. Of course he is. (Although I will still show up for Frasier every single day) Norm wasn’t flashy. He wasn’t the most ambitious or the smartest or the most tortured. Norm just showed up, made a joke, ordered a beer, and everyone lit up.

On May 20, 2025, George Wendt died. Thirty two years to the day after the last episode of Cheers.

When I hear this news, I don’t expect to feel much. I didn’t know George Wendt and I certainly didn’t follow his career beyond Cheers (though obviously I loved his turn as Harry Macafee in the Made for TV version of “Bye Bye Birdie”)

But when I woke up this morning, I was sad. I was sad because Norm, in his very ordinariness, his ubiquitous normalcy, represented something that’s pretty rare now - the magic of being quietly known. Not known to a million followers, but known to the people who keep showing up for you and you for them, for no reason other than - it’s important.

Norm wasn’t trying to impress anyone, at least I don’t think he was. He wasn’t the guy who was going to change the world or wanted to change the world. He was just a guy at a bar. And when he walked into that bar, people were happy to see him.

One of my favorite things to do is sit alone a bar and overhear the stories the bar elicits from people. Or watch a regular walk in and get their drink poured before they even ask. I love that kind of life. The kind where people know your name. The kind where nobody needs to perform. The kind where you just show up, again and again, and that’s enough. I think that I just love the soft, sticky rituals that hold ordinary people together. I’m fascinated by how the ordinary makes the world move.

Maybe that what is making me sad this morning. Maybe that’s what I’m actually mourning. Not just George Wendt (though may his memory be a blessing).
But the whole idea of "regulars” or of ordinary ritual and routine. Of places you can return to. Of being known in a small ways. Of a world that doesn’t need you to be exceptional, just present. Of a world that won’t say that just being present can be exceptional. Of a world that realizes that not everyone is exceptional and that’s fully fine.

OBVIOUSLY I know I’m romanticizing it. Most bars aren’t Cheers. Most regulars aren’t Norm. My ex-husband had a knack of finding a version of “his bar” in every town we lived in. These bars were less communal warmth and more emotional avoidance with dank IPAs and sticky floors. These places weren’t magical. For the most part, they were sad and toxic and disgusting. Every bar is sad and toxic and disgusting if you feel like you need to be there before you can enter your front door.

I digress, because now, at 39, I realize I’m likely much older than some of the characters were supposed to be. Carla was in her thirties. Diane was probably late twenties, early thirties. Even Sam, whose whole vibe screamed “washed-up ex-jock in his forties,” might not have been much older than I am now. Norm? Cliff? Frasier? They were middle-aged. And here we are, so am I.

Which begs the question: Am I sad because I am just now aging into the show I loved as a child? Was I always meant for this particular season of life, this chapter where showing up and knowing your place at the table is the win? Where being a “regular” in your friends’ homes is more comforting than being on any list or at any launch or having to debrief the previous nights activities over a linoleum booth at a diner with sunglasses on and three different drinks in front of you?

I love the way I feel now when I enter a friends kitchen, put my bag down on a chair, and get handed a drink without asking. I know where the wine glasses are. I know which cabinet they shouldn’t be in. It’s not glamorous, but it’s perfect. I kind of love the idea of living a Cheers-shaped life. The good kind of boring. The kind of boring the means you belong.

So, here we are. Cheers to Norm and to the people who show up, sit down, and stay awhile - wherever that may be.

Chic Schmaltz La Vie,

LCF

PS - If you want a good laugh, please take a minute to remember the Cheers robots located at Cheers airport bars across the country. The 90s WERE WILD.