A boy and his lost cards revived the spirit of Christmas | Jerry Davich

Her 10-year-old son, Tyler, had his collection of Yu-Gi-Oh trading cards in the trunk of her car. Packs of them. Boxes of them. Organized. Sorted. Coveted. And saved for almost five years. Half of his life.

His beloved collection, valued at $1,200, was gone in an instant when his mom’s car was stolen in Hammond, Indiana. She called the cops. Then she called Tyler. He was crushed. When his mom bought him two Yu-Gi-Oh booster packs to cheer him up, he bawled his eyes out.

The next day, with puffy eyes, he began his new collection and put up a reward for the return of his old collection. “I'll give 'em a couple of my best cards, I promise," he told me.

I know what it’s like to have a prized collection of trading cards stolen. Back in fourth grade I collected the entire team roster of the 1971 Chicago Cubs. Joe Pepitone. Glenn Beckert. Ron Santo. Don Kessinger. If you know, you know. I brought them to school in a Banana Splits lunchbox to show it off, keeping it in my locker until lunch hour.

Someone stole it when I was in class. I was devastated. I felt Tyler’s pain 20 years ago when he lost his most prized possession.

I wrote a column, sharing Tyler’s story and asking if anyone had any Yu-Gi-Oh cards gathering dust instead of memories.

“I'm hoping we can help retrieve at least part of Tyler's world,” I wrote.

It’s a tradition of mine that began that year. Our lives, newsfeeds and world are littered with negative news stories. If it bleeds, it leads. If it’s political, people will salivate for more. They can’t get enough. This year has proven it yet again.

I try to counter this trend with positive stories around Christmastime. Every year I search for people’s stories that may rekindle the spirit of Christmas in my heart, and hopefully for readers, too.

This year I tried something new. While visiting my aunt’s home, I asked her artificial intelligence voice assistant, Alexa, how people can find the Christmas spirit.

“People discover that magical feeling through all sorts of wonderful ways, such as singing Christmas carols or lighting candles, or putting up Christmas lights,” the device cheerily replied. “Others find it by giving back, or volunteering, or doing small acts of kindness. The key is to find what personally sparks that sense of wonder and generosity for you.”

Twenty years ago at Christmastime, a sense of wonder was sparked by the generosity of my readers — and their young children — after reading my column about Tyler. The first call came from a young boy.

"Hi, this is Aaron. I have some cards for Tyler."

Then the sweetest girl's voice called to say, "Hi, my name is Aanchal. Me and my brother Amijharna want to help Tyler."

The first email arrived soon after.

"My name is Dominic and I am 13 years old. I too collected those cards and I want to donate my entire collection to (Tyler) but I don't know how."

And this one: "My name is Dakota and I am 11 yrs old. I read the story about Tyler's Yu-Gi-Oh cards being stolen ... . I have over 650 cards in good condition to give him that have been sitting on a shelf in my closet. I hope I can give these cards to him by Christmas."

And this one: "I am in 8th grade now, but when I was in around 4th and 5th grade I used to collect them and I really valued them ... but this boy needs them more than I do. Sincerely, Marcella."

More phone calls came in. More emails arrived. Dozens of kids or their parents contacted me. I expected a handful of nostalgic baby boomers to contact me, reminiscing about their beloved G.I. Joe or Barbie doll collection, offering a few bucks to help Tyler start a new collection.

I didn't expect kids to come to Tyler's rescue. But they did.

The first box of cards arrived at my office the following morning. Another plastic baggie of cards followed. Then a gift-wrapped box of more cards. In all, children and their parents hand-delivered about 10,000 cards to me to give to a boy they never met.

I wrote that Tyler lived in Hessville, a section of Hammond, but most kids don't know Hessville from Whoville. They simply gave to give, period.

I invited Tyler and his mother, who was five months pregnant, to visit my office and retrieve all those cards. She couldn't believe those parents would fight rush-hour, crazy-busy, Christmas shopping traffic just for her son. But they did.

Some cards came with handwritten letters from kids, like this one from Nic Hernandez: "Dear Tyler, I know how it feels to lose your cards. I just hope these cards help you."

One bag of cards came from the father of a young boy who died earlier that year. He wanted Tyler to have his son's collection.

Tyler's mother watched as the kids surrounded her son, sorting through all the cards.

She didn't say much.

She couldn't say much.

She didn't have to.

She just covered her mouth and quietly sobbed.

"I've never ever seen so many cards," her son told her.

On that Christmas, she possibly found something to believe in again. Just like her child.

And so did I.