Beg To Differ


Warning: Long

If you are like me, you argue. I love a good argument and I just can’t help myself from correcting people. Most of the time people just stare in awe at my wit and intelligence as I correct their every move and constantly prove them wrong. Sarcasm. But because I am going to assume that you share my love for unintentionally pissing people off, I’m going to move on to the point.

“I beg to differ.”

If you identified with that fist paragraph, you probably have said or at least heard this phrase at one point in your life. But what does it really mean? If you asked a normal person they would probably say that it just means  you don’t agree, but I’m a thirteen year old boy who writes a blog and draws for fun. I am not a normal person. Time to break it down.

“I.” pretty self explanatory. “Beg,” is not as simple. When we use this phrase, we don’t beg. We don’t even ask permission when we correct someone, let alone beg for it. Begging is asking humbly, honestly, and overall, wanting something. If you beg, you want something, and you want it badly. “To,” is and action. You are begging to take action. You want to do something. The next word is the big one.


When we say the overall phrase, we are telling someone we don’t agree. Usually on what the person is saying. I don’t thinks that’s all there is to it. If you look up ‘differ’ you get lots of examples. Diverge from. Conflict with. Run counter to. Go against. So when we say I beg to differ, sure, we’re disagreeing, but it can mean so much more than that.

I want to be different. I beg to differ. I beg to differ my race, my music, my friends, my passion, my thoughts, and my life. My little, insignificant, life begs to differ. That is the significance in insignificance. That is what makes us beautiful.

Last night I went to see a speaker. He was a comedian. He was proud. He was black. He was speaking about civil rights and damn, Ron Jones can speak. Catch a show sometime. But he spoke on how all lives mattered, not how black lives mattered, but how all lives do. He begged to differ his, and everyones race. I’m of Mexican heritage. My mom is hispanic and my dad’s white as chalk. I may be less than 50% Mexican, but all it takes is black hair and colored skin and boom, your not American. We think we live in a non-racist country. We don’t. In every school the Mexicans deal with border jokes, the Negros deal with black jokes, the asians deal with all kinds of shit. Hell, we’ve got a mega-racist running for president and people are freaking supporting him. Literally 7 hours ago A nice girl that I don’t even talk to much said goodbye by light-heartedly saying “don’t get deported,” and my best friend’s mom, who is a nurse that I’ve never formally met says tells me to “stay white,” as a joke. I don’t care though. I don’t want to be the same as the white boys. I don’t want everyone to be identical race. I beg to differ.

My music, which I am listening to right now, is awful, or thats what my friends think at least. We don’t agree on music. they listen to Imagine Dragons, and One Republic, or even some rock songs I like. I like old music, like Journey or Bowie. I like the catchy stuff they play on the radio. I like the Adele crap that hit the charts as soon as she said “Hello.” But not really. I listen to those things, but they don’t speak to me. They don’t mean anything. Hell, most pop artists have never written a lyric in their life. I like the rappers that sound trashy and get judged. I like the emotional who don’t get heard and don’t have fans. I like the people who write from the heart. Rappers, angry lyrics, bad music, not much skill to it. But it means something to them and to those who do listen to them. They don’t ‘sound nice’ but what good is sounding nice when you’re a millionaire pop star writing albums about a breakup you don’t care about anymore. Twenty on pilots. Listen to the lyrics. They mean something. I tried to get a friend to listen to a song they wrote and he hated it because it was “just words words words” and “didn’t sound good.” I told him that wasn’t the point. He goes “yeah it is, it’s music,” and I just think about that. He listens to Skillet and Linkin Park. Fine artists but not my writers. I don’t care if m music is “stupid,” or “doesn’t sound cool enough,” because it reflects me. I like it. It’s deep, it’s different. That scares people. Racism isn’t hate. It’s fear of the unknown. He doesn’t hate my music. He just doesn’t understand it because it’s unique and different. Different. I don’ like Adele and Justin Bieber and One Direction and Skillet and Skrillex. I love my music and I beg to differ.

Next time you are put under pressure or have to defend yourself or your opinion, beg to differ. Be different. Love different. Embrace difference. Beg for your difference. Beg to differ.

Author: feeltheberg

Don't follow me, stalker.

5 thoughts on “Beg To Differ”

    1. I’ve never read that book so I cant tell if that was a joke or not. Most likely not. I don’t quite get what you mean in that last part but I didn’t edit that post so sorry for any typos. Thanks for the support!


      1. No really, I think your writing is very clever and honest. Amazing for a thirteen year old. Have you been tested for giftedness? Not that you need to be but would be interesting to know how you would score. My fourteen year old is gifted, although at this stage he couldn’t write like you do. His gift is in other areas.
        And hey, I was drawn to your blog by the sarcastic comment you left on someone else’s blog….32 reasons to stop writing. I thought you were pretty rude and now I think about it, I also have a part of me that loves to cut people down to size and tell them exactly what I think. I cause stirs on facebook often! I must have seen myself in you! A person with huge emotions, talent and compassion, with an interesting sting in the tail which comes from being sensitive and perhaps hurt by the insensitive comments of other people.
        Catcher in the Rye by J D Salinger is a famous classic book studied in high school very often. It was written in the late 60’s to 70’s, at a guess. It is very funny, written from the point of view of a teenager, Holden Caulfield. I loved it. Reading two of your posts I was reminded of the character Holden….a long steam of consciousness style of writing.
        I immediately loved your writing…wise beyond your years. I am looking forward to reading more about the world through your eyes. Also I loved your image of the light bulbs…I suspect the lit one represents you…switched on and bright amongst the dull, burnt out dullards….however you spell dullards!!


      2. I regret that comment a little. I hadn’t read the whole thing and unless you read #34 you couldn’t understand that the post was a joke. I was just mad because for some reason that post was depressing me.
        Honestly I didn’t think anyone would ever read my blog so thanks for following.


      3. Keep writing…I’m waiting for the next installment. My daughter is 12 and she just started her first blog. She can’t spell brilliantly but she writes from her heart. She was also amazed when someone read and followed her!


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