I am Linda Loman. I work long days in the shadow of my family’s fame. My standards are set, so even if some days I want to let my anger run wild, I respond with “yes dear” or “no problem.” I am the first smile that my husband sees as he enters the door, and I am the soothing voice singing my boys to sleep. I am a problem solver. I have reasonable and logical answers to reassure my family when troubled times knock on our door. My hair is speckled grey and my clothes are tattered and torn, but in my imagination I wear determination and hard work like shiny badges on my apron. I am delicate and polite with every move I make. When loud booms of voices are thrown my way I catch them with infinite patience. I often accommodate my husband Willy when his feet are sore from a hard day of sales. I know exactly what he needs, and I know how to get him ready to fight again tomorrow. I have had many years of practice of running a family, and the struggles of mediating between two powers. I do all of it most days without recognition, praise, or even a “thank you.” I don’t mind. I see myself as a strong and determined woman, who can control all the affairs in the Loman household. But after all, as I finish up the housework, and stumble into bed, its not about me.