Last week, George Wendt passed away.

To most of us, he was simply Norm — the man with the best one-word entrance in the history of television. “Norm!” The crowd at Cheers would shout. And Norm would fire off a one-liner so dry and perfect it still echoes in my mind.

Now, here’s a personal twist: Norm’s full name on the show? Norm Peterson. That’s my last name too. I don’t think we’re related… but I’ve always felt a little extra connection because of it.

George Wendt’s passing hit me harder than I expected. It wasn’t just losing a beloved actor. It was losing a small piece of a show that has brought me endless joy, comfort, and belly laughs for decades. Cheers is, without question, my favorite TV show of all time.

Whenever I stumble onto a rerun, I sit down “just for a minute,” and then — forty minutes and several out-loud laughs later — I’m still there. The show is that good. The writing is sharp. The timing is impeccable. The characters are unforgettable. And the themes — oh, the themes — friendship, failure, loyalty, loneliness, longing, ego, identity, love, confusion… all distilled into one little Boston bar with a wooden counter and a wisecracking staff.

But here’s the thing.

Just the other day, I was watching an episode with my 38-year-old daughter. About halfway through, she turned to me and said something that’s been stuck in my head ever since:

“This show would never fly today.”

I laughed, nodded, and then stopped. Wait. Why not?

We didn’t unpack it much in the moment, but I think I know what she meant. Cheers, for all its brilliance, is also very much a product of its time. It’s male-dominated. It sometimes leans into outdated gender dynamics and power imbalances. Some of the jokes land a little off-key to modern ears. The roles of women — especially early on — are often framed through the lens of how they relate to the men around them. Diane Chambers is brilliant and funny but is often played as the neurotic foil to Sam’s swagger. Carla is fierce, but her abrasiveness is mined for laughs. Even Rebecca Howe, who arrives later, struggles to be taken seriously — both by the characters and the narrative.

And yet…

I love the show. Still. Deeply. And here lies my dilemma. How do I hold onto that love while also acknowledging its flaws?

Maybe this is part of getting older — learning to sit with complexity. I don’t need to defend Cheers as perfect. I can love it for what it gave me — laughter, comfort, community — while also recognizing the ways it doesn’t reflect today’s values. I can cherish Norm, Cliff, Woody, Frasier, and Sam… while wishing there had been more for Diane, Carla, and Rebecca. I can appreciate how far we’ve come — and still long for a time when sitcoms weren’t afraid of silence, when punchlines weren’t pumped with irony, and when a group of oddballs in a bar could make you feel, if only for 22 minutes, that you belonged.

So yes, my daughter’s right. Cheers might not “fly” today. But that’s not a condemnation. It’s a measure of how culture evolves. And it’s a reminder — to me, at least — to keep watching, keep laughing, and keep learning.

Rest in peace, George Wendt. You gave us Norm — the most lovable barstool philosopher of them all.

And to Cheers, thank you. For always being that warm, familiar place…
where everybody knows your name.