This post is already old and whatnot, but I have to comment because this hits so close to home, and you need to know how awesome it is that you even tried to replace your kids stuff. One day it might mean more to him than you'll ever know.
When I was in my early teens, I was very much into Warhammer. I spent a lot of my own summer job and allowance money on my collection, and got pretty good at painting them. My dad didn't understand it - he was more of a sports type guy - and he would give me guff about spending money on it, but at the end of the day, he didn't force me to not participate in it or anything.
I lost my entire collection when our house caught fire. In terms of the fire we were actually really fortunate- the fire department got there quickly and got it handled (none of us were home), and were able to save most of the house. I wasn't as fortunate, my room was mostly trashed, but I was able to salvage some stuff... unfortunately not my figurines.
To say that I was inconsolable is an understatement. My collection was by far my most prized possession, not in terms of economic value, but in terms of personal investment. It really fucked me up - but I played "tough" and soldiered through it, because I also realized how bad it could have ended up for the whole family and didn't want to distract from that.
But my dad knew what was up. He went out of his way, without letting me know about it, to acquire a bunch of Warhammer stuff. Even got some really high quality figurines from a local shop that were painted by some talented enthusiasts.
When he presented them to me I was socially graceful... but my love for it died with the fire. And he could tell. He came to me later in the day and asked if what he got was okay for me, that he didn't know anything about the "game" but hoped that he got the right stuff (he didn't, really, but it was the effort that counted). I don't remember what I said exactly, but it was something stupid along the lines of "it's okay dad, time for me to grow up anyway." And I didn't realize it at the time (depression, etc), but in hindsight I realize that he felt really bad that he let me down.
Anyway. I'm crying as I type this so I need to wrap it up.
He eventually passed, but I regularly think about how he went out of his way to help me rekindle a love for a hobby that I "lost", even with his limited understanding. And the fact that he would have loved if I did other things with my time, but he still went out of his way to bring my hobby back to me.
I never got to really, truly thank him for this before he died. It's painful. But more than the pain, I am extremely grateful for the many things he did for me, as a father, and this one story is one that I always think about.