Dad DNA includes a variety of important traits and responsibilities.

You're the guy who can dispose of a half-eaten sandwich as well as a half-eaten rat the cat left under the dining room table. You can fix broken plates and sooth wounded pride. And you know the answers to any question — even if you have to make them up on the spot.

Being the jock in my little tribe, I became the coach, too.

For the last five years, I was the personal trainer and the sports psychologist. I was equipment manager and strategist. I was the booster who always said it was time to leave for a game 15 minutes before we really needed to get going.

But I'm out of a job.

The Little Darlings have new teams and new coaches who know a lot more than Dad. The girls have arrived at their destination, so to speak. Time for me to cut the cord — just like I did on the day each was born.

The realization that my role was changing struck me a few weeks ago. I didn't see it coming and I didn't want to accept it. Being restricted to the bleachers felt like I was being banished to a gulag.

Maybe I'm too much of a fanatic to be a fan, but I didn't want to be like all those other parents who yelled for the sake of yelling. Who didn't understand the nuances of a soccer game or a canoe race. Who came to a practice and stuck their nose in a book until practice was over.

I wanted to be involved. It was visceral for me, consuming.

A lot of fathers believe they can coach, that they know best. That's what I thought when I coached my first team — even though I didn't even want the job as a girls soccer coach.

Pretty arrogant of me.

We fared so badly that season — each practice, every game was such a fiasco — that I could never shake the feeling, even as the years passed, that I had let down my 12-year-old daughter.

Ever since, I tried to make up for it by offering both daughters a steady drumbeat of athletic advice. I read books, scanned online resources and preached that every experience was money in the bank.

With me in their corner, neither daughter would ever be unprepared.

I did my best not to yell. My goal was always to offer constructive advice, even after defeat. But I can still recall the sting when one of them told me after a bad practice: Today I just need you to be my dad.

It was a potent reminder of my responsibilities.

A lot of fathers are too busy to spend this kind of time with their children. My good fortune, is helping me cope with my new role.

Sure, my time may be up, but I'm richer for the experience, wiser for the failures.

And no matter what any of their new coaches say, when the girls and I sit down for dinner, I still have home field advantage.

The only difference is, now I'm a fan.

Reach Mike Gordon at mgordon@honoluluadvertiser.com.