I read a 103-year old newspaper editorial recently that was foursquare against the building of the Lincoln Memorial.

As the writer put it, he hoped Congress wouldn’t go along with constructing a “worthless, if artistic pile of marble” to the memory of President Lincoln. Two million dollars!

The writer was certain Lincoln himself would be against such a waste of money.

That was 1912 and the opinion of the writer can be forgiven for opposing the building of a monument that millions today would say occupies a sacred spot in the nation’s capital.

You really can’t fault a fellow for getting caught up in the present moment and never imagining that somebody in 2015 would come across what he said and put it in the newspaper again!

It’s like the limbo. In religion limbo is a place between heaven and hell. In some island countries it’s a part of a funeral dance.

A thousand years ago nobody envisioned Chubby Checker coming along one day and shouting, “Everybody limbo!” and old and young alike taking to the dance floor and trying to bend backwards low enough to go under a stick held by two people. It’s not easy to see something like that coming.

In World War II leg makeup was the thing. Japanese silk was nonexistent, so ladies turned to leg makeup instead of silk stockings.

Imagine sinking your life savings into leg makeup in the early 1940s.

Or later, in the late 1950s when the hula hoop craze was going on, imagine investing in Wham-O stock. I’m sure it looked promising, especially when the Super Ball was developed by the company a little later.

At the time, it was probably as promising an investment as opening up a water bed factory seemed to be at one point in time.

Ever notice how you never see a break dancing studio in a strip mall or on a city street? Dance of all kinds – ballet, tap, jazz – and martial arts of every kind, but no break dancing studio.

The Pet Rock, Rubik’s Cube and those X-Ray vision glasses I wanted when I was a kid phased out with the previous generation’s goldfish swallowing, flagpole sitting and cramming people into a telephone booth.

And those labels we used? Remember the “Yippies” from the 1960s? Those were young people who were on the far-left politically, who would do crazy things to make a point.

“Yuppies” were those young professionals from the 1980s who made no apologies for being consumers and materialists.

Those labels in time gave way to “Generation X” (the latchkey keys who grew up to be independent) and “Millenials” (who are so darn special).

Me, I’m a “senior” so I don’t want to be bothered by either group. No offense since I feel the same way about fellow “Baby Boomers.”

As I often say in this column, watch what you say and what you advocate and if you don’t have to offer an opinion don’t.

Things are changing with or without your input and silence might keep you from opposing some future “Lincoln Memorial.”

The future is tricky business as witnessed by Parker Brothers.

All the company had to do to see that “Monopoly” would one day be surpassed by the “Ouija Board” was, well, consult the “Ouija Board,” and as far as I know they didn’t.

Bob Morgan is a retired, award-winning journalist and author.