When I turned 40, my husband staged a surprise party for me. I should never forget my emotion as I entered the restaurant and saw loving friends amid flowers and music and a large display of photographs that spanned my life. I hurried from one table to the next, greeting each guest. Then suddenly at the rear of the room I spotted a gentle, smiling man with snow-white hair and a blue-eyed woman on his side. 'Mom, Dad,' I gasped. They had flown to Los Angeles from Chicago just hours before. I burst into tears at the sight of these two who, more than anyone else, had taught me that being there for another person is the greatest gift we can give. A year later, my husband and I were invited to an unusual wedding. Our friends had been married years before in a civil ceremony, and now they wanted to declare again their commitment to one another in a church service. The morning before the wedding, I decided to call my friend and beg off. 'Kathe, this is Karen,' I began hesitantly. 'You're coming, aren't you?' She broke in. Her voice was urgent. I paused and in that instant recalled the sight of my parents at my 40th-birthday party. 'Yes, of course,' I said, 'We'll be there.' So we went. And I was grateful we did. We weren't in our seats a minute before Kathe came up behind us, radiant but with tears in her eyes. She told us how much our presence meant to her, with many of her beloved ones absent. I see now that one's presence can be a duty in the highest sense. It is, in fact, something that we owe one another, whatever the cost. In gifts of the self, self is renewed. 'Being there' is indeed at the very core of civility. Which of the following might be the best title for the passage?