My son has the dubious distinction of being, well, my son. I say that because unlike a lot of other 8-year-olds he receives the occasional earful of spiritual woo-woo from his old man. Fortunately, my son is a good sport about it all and, in my defense, he actually brings up the stuff as much as I do. The other day he asked me why I was in a bad mood and after the predictable “I don’t know,” I thought…