Ever since first hearing about the famous little Virginia and her letter in the September 21, 1897 edition of the New York Sun, it’s become a part of my annual holiday heart string-pulling. I cling to it more closely this year, when my 9 year-old daughter is at the age where she questions the veracity of Jolly Old Saint Nick. It’s hard in this day and age to keep that particular bit of magic alive, in a time when commercials are touting “Christmas for less!” and blatantly showing parents relieved to get presents for their children at discount prices. “Why do you have to go shopping?” she asks smugly. “How does he get to every house in one night anyway??” and “People at school say he’s not real and there’s no such thing as Santa Claus.” Telling her I still believe doesn’t seem to work as well.