I’m never going into space. Neither are you.

But we’re sending other people. I hope they appreciate it.

Richard Branson in space. (Virgin Galactic photo)

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Gabby Giffords and Gwyneth Paltrow are both cousins of mine. I have never met either of them. 

They’re out of my league.

I have hundreds of other, less rich and famous, relatives I’ve never met, either. My stock of familiar kin is pretty much confined to my daughter, a couple of nephews and my cousin Ira.

I only know about Giffords and Paltrow because of an extensive genealogy of my father’s family, going back to Suwalki, Poland, in 1794. As a boy, in 1971, I saw an early version for about 5 minutes in the St. Paul, Minn. home of a relative. I didn’t know him, either.

I didn’t see my distant cousins’ names in the book. Former U.S. Rep. Giffords, D-Ariz., was then a year old. Actor Blythe Danner gave birth to actor Paltrow in 1972. 

I learned about these familial connections in 2009, when the Internet told me that scores of Levitanskys from Suwalki, as we call ourselves, live in the United States. Every other year, there’s a reunion in the Asilomar Hotel in Pacific Grove, Calif.

For one reason or another, usually money or work responsibilities, I have never made it there. 

That’s why I fail to get excited by Richard Branson and Jeff Bezos going into outer space. Millions upon millions of dollars’ cost does not seem to be a significant concern for them or the other dudes they’re trying to entice to follow to where the air is thin. All they have to worry about is whether the people they hired to build their space contraptions did a good enough job to make it about as perilous as a cab ride to O'Hare.

It’s not easy to identify with this billionaire boys club of astronautics. Most of us have to plan all year for a visit to our kids at that college we can’t afford. 

I’m a space nerd. As a boy, I watched all the launches and splashdowns on TV that didn’t happen during school hours. I even saw some of the shuttles (Those are precious hours I’ll never get back.). But when ABC preempted most of This Week with George Stephanopoulos last Sunday for Branson’s reentry and the aftermath of his adventure, I was not appreciative.

This was not an example of our species stretching its capabilities to explore the universe. It was not the first step toward everyday people escaping the bonds that tie them to our planet, either. That’s not happening.

I think ABC had all that coverage because Americans wanted to see a ridiculously rich person blown up.

That was the story on social media. That, and the wish that all billionaires would agree to be shot into space.

Most of us who are not deluded see these trips as an in-your-face from the privileged class. They're going into space while we may have to do mental arithmetic when asked if we want fries with that.

Not deluded, Part Two: These guys did not entirely earn their ability to go into space or bathe in the blood of albino peacocks or whatever else they do. You and I paid for all that, and not just because we bought stuff from them. They don’t pay income taxes. Not here, not in England.

In addition, we occasionally give them -- and other billionaire babies -- truckloads of cash in the hope that they’ll favor us with the honor of doing business in one place or another. 

It’s not enough that we pay for their stuff. We have to pay for the privilege of paying for their stuff.

We pay for rich guys to go into space and buy islands and eat fricassees of finch eyes. Meanwhile, about 64% of Americans will retire with less than $10,000 in assets.

But we live in the greatest country in the world, where poor people blast rich people into space and bring them back alive.

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