Every Inch of His Love

Led Zeppelin’s “Whole Lotta Love” was never just about sex for my dad.
It was about expression. Power. Feeling something fully — and not being punished for it.

He came from a world where love was conditional.
Where affection was rationed like money.
Where being loud, passionate, or full of want was frowned upon — especially if you were a boy.

But here was Robert Plant — screaming.
Jimmy Page — conjuring storms with a guitar.
And the lyrics? They didn’t ask permission.
They claimed love. Desire. Presence. Every inch of it.

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My dad loved this song because it said what he couldn’t.
He had all that emotion in him — all that longing — but nowhere to put it.

Love in his world had always been small.
Tidy.
Polite.
Trapped in duty or silence.

But this song?
It was alive.
Unfiltered. Unashamed. Undeniably male and still tender beneath the noise.

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When he blasted this through the speakers, it was like he was pushing back against every time he was told:

• “Don’t be so sensitive.”
• “Stop making a scene.”
• “Keep it together.”

He wasn’t falling apart — he was finally feeling.

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Maybe that’s why it meant so much to him.
Because “every inch of my love” wasn’t just sexual.
It was the inches of love he’d stored up and never been allowed to give.
The love he wasn’t taught how to show.
The part of him that wanted to be seen as a man who feels, not just functions.

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It made sense to me later.
When I started understanding him not just as my father,
but as a man with his own ache,
his own buried tenderness,
his own teenage fire that no one ever asked about.

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“Whole Lotta Love” was his anthem.
Not because he wanted to shout at the world —
but because he needed to whisper something louder than anyone ever let him say:

“I’ve got so much love inside me. And I just want to give it.”

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