We each have our own individual story. But we also have shared stories of momentous events we’ve simultaneously experienced as American or global citizens.

I just finished a very good book, The Irresistible Henry House, by Lisa Grunwald, that spans the birth years of baby boomers — and a bit beyond. The protagonist is born in 1946, the first birth year of the baby boom (which most say ended in 1964).

Pop culture — books, films, TV, and more — that cover this period almost inevitably include the touchstone events that boomers universally remember. Their inclusion is so expected and predictable that once we’re aware of where we are in the chronology, we know what’s coming.

1963? Expect Martin Luther King’s March on Washington and JFK’s assassination. 1964: The Beatles come to the US. 1967: Race riots and the Summer of Love. 1968: Assassinations of Martin Luther King and Robert F. Kennedy, and then Chicago. Often thrown into the mix are the Cuban Missile Crisis and the early days of the space program. And all of it is against the backdrop of Vietnam.

These watershed parts of our shared story as boomers are so ubiquitous in period pop culture, that they are almost cliches. Yet, if they were absent, would we cry out in protest? Would we say, “How can you write about Thanksgiving time in 1963 and not mention JFK’s assassination?”

Of course, I’ve always had a freaky memory for dates and tendency to associate them with what was going on in my life at the time.

When The Irresistible Henry House got to December 1966, I knew exactly what event was foreshadowed. Even if the book’s protagonist had not been working as an animator for Walt Disney Studios, I’m sure I would have immediately associated December 1966 with Walt Disney’s death.

People remember where they were when they heard JFK was shot, when the Challenger space shuttle exploded, when the planes hit the Twin Towers.

I remember where I was when I learned Walt Disney died. I was in Mrs. Kerr’s study hall in junior high. I can’t imagine how classmates learned of events in the outside world in the pre-Internet, pre-Twitter culture in which we grew up, but someone had heard about Walt.

As The Irresistible Henry House wonderfully illustrates, Walt Disney was the preeminent storyteller of our youth. Losing him was tantamount to losing the stories. My own grandfather also died in 1966, but I don’t remember where I was when I learned he died. The deaths of both men are emblematic of another shared experience of baby boomers — realizing our grandparents and parents might have lived longer had they not smoked. Walt died of lung cancer; my grandfather of throat cancer following years of suffering with emphysema.

As predictable and overdone as the repeated appearance of these shared experiences in pop culture, they are a cherished part of the story our generation shares.